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THE 



YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT, 



IN EFFORTS AT 



SELF-CULTIVATION 



BY JASON WHITMAN, 

AUTHOR OF THE YOUNG LADY'S AID. 







PORTLAND : 

S. H. COLES WORTHY 

BOSJON: 
B. H. GREENE." 

1838.- " 



WS 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838, 

BY S. H. COLESWORTHY, 

In the Clerk's office of the District Court of Maine,, 



E$ 



RUFUS TTJKEY, PRINTER, 
NO. 23, EXCHANGE STREET. 



% 



PREFACE. 



I have, for a long time, been deeply interested 
in the improvement and character of the young- 
er portion of society, both male and female. I 
have felt that in view of the future character of 
our community, in view of the purity and perma- 
nency of our free Institutions, in view of the sta- 
bility and best influences of our religious privileg- 
es, the younger portion of society is, by far, its 
most important portion; for I have felt that, in all 
these respects, the future condition of this country 
depends on the young. Take, as an illustration, 
the subject of Temperance. The advanced and 
the middle-aged have done much for the establish- 
ment of this cause. They may still do much. — 
But, after all, it depends on the young to carry the 
cause forward to its complete perfection, to its en- 
tire and universal prevalence. If the young are 
indifferent upon the subject, or are, in heart and 
practice, opposed to the cause, all that the more 
advanced can do will be comparatively and event- 
ually in vain. The more advauced will soon be 
gone. The young will remain to give a character 
to their own time, and to mould and fashion in 

1* 



VI PREFACE. 

some degree the character of the times which 
may succeed their own. If, therefore, the young 
say that intemperance shall prevail, then it will pre- 
vail, notwithstanding what has been done, or what 
may still be done by the middle aged and the old. So 
too, if the } 7 ounger portion of the community de- 
termine that temperance shall prevail, and mark 
the character of the community that is just en- 
tering upon the stage, it will be so, notwithstand- 
inglhe indifference or the opposition of their eiders. 
And thus it is, in regard to all the various interests 
of society, whether they are social, civil, literary 
or religious. It is for the young to give the char- 
acter to the times and the community which may 
succeed the present. It is for this reason that I 
have felt so deeply the importance of the young. 
It is for this reason that I have written for the 
young. I have thought that our Young Ladies 
were m danger of yielding themselves slaves to 
frivolity, vanity and fashion. And I have endeav- 
ored, in the Young Lady's Aid, to arrest their at- 
tention and direct it to their own solid and real im- 
provement, to the establishment of a substantial 
foundation for a life of usefulness and happiness. 

In regard to our young men, I would say, that 
I have seen them, as I have thought, surrounded 
by a multitude of dangers. There is indifference 
to the importance of the season, that is tast pass- 
ing from them, the season of youth, which, by 
leading to habits of indolence, may shed a blight- 
ing inMuence over their whole future lives. Then 



PREFACE. Vll 

there are the temptations to dissipation, by which 
they are surrounded and beset. And, finally, they 
are now in great danger, from the circumstance 
that their importance in the community is begin- 
ning to be felt, and their efforts and influence to 
become prominent, I have sometimes thought too 
prominent. We have our Young Men's Associ- 
ations for almost every imaginable purpose, dis- 
tinct and separate from the Associations of the 
more advanced. And such are the feelings of the 
times, that the middle-aged and sometimes even 
the old, choose that their efforts and influence 
should receive currency, by passing under the 
fashionable title of young men's efforts and influ- 
ence. It seems to me that there are some evils 
resulting from this state of things. Our young 
men rush forward into active life, far too soon, or 
at least, with far too little preparation for its du- 
ties. And, not having formed habits of self-cul- 
tivation, they are hurried along by the pressing 
duties which crowd upon them, and so pass through 
life without making one half the improvement, or 
securing one half the enjoyment which they might 
otherwise have done. Then too, the young, be- 
ing ardent in their feelings, of excitable passions, 
and of comparatively feeble discretion and judg- 
ment, are too apt to be bitter and violent, to carry 
things to extremes, and to seize upon whatever is 
new. merely because it is new. Who are our 
most violent politicans? Are they not in most in- 
stances, young men ? Who are the most rash m- 



Vlll PREFACE. 

novators? Are they not, in most instances^ young 
men? Who are in most danger of wild and ex- 
travagant speculations, who most fond of throw- 
ing off all regard for established forms and usages? 
Are they not, in most instances, young men? — 
When I have reflected upon the evils, which I 
have thought, resulted in some degree, or at least 
have been greatly increased by the prominence 
which is either assumed by, or given to young men 
I have asked with much earnestness, what can be 
done? And the answer to my question has been, 
it is no matter how young a man is called into ac- 
tive life, provided that, by the knowledge he has 
acquired, the mental habits he has formed, and 
the soundness of judgment he has secured, he is 
prepared for its duties, temptations and trials. It 
is often the case that one man is as mature in judg- 
ment, discretion and a control over passion, at 
twenty, as another may be at forty. I have 
thought, therefore, that the proper way of meet- 
ing this state of the times, is to address young men 
themselves, to endeavor to awaken them to just 
notions of the duties involved in the prominence 
which is now given them. I would have them 
so feel this prominence and importance, as to be 
prompted by their feelings to greater efforts for 
improvement. I would have every young man 
feel that, although his education may have been 
deficient, still, there is no reason why he should 
pass through life without making advances. The 
high-way of knowledge is open to all, and I should 



PREFACE. IX 

be glad to see all walking therein. I have there- 
fore endeavored to throw out, in this little work, 
such suggestions as might serve to awaken to the 
importance of efforts at self-cultivation and to give 
some direction and assistance in such efforts. 

I am aware that there are already many books 
prepared for young men. The Young Man's 
Friend, The Young Man's Guide, The Young 
Man's Aid — these, and others like them, are all 
of them valuable books. It is not expected, nor 
is it desired, that The Young Man's Assistant 
should take the place of any of these. It ask only 
a place by their side, as a younger brother of the 
same family. 

I have directed the attention of young men, in these 
letters, to their own minds, and have given some 
sketches of mental philosophy, in its application to 
personal and practical improvement. I have done 
this for a particular reason. I well remember, that, 
while acquiring my education, we were conducted, 
in due time, to the study of mental Philosophy. 
And a perceptible change was produced upon most 
of the class. A new object of intense interest was 
laid open to their study — the mind — their own 
minds. And the study excited us to thought and 
reflection. In this way, frivolity and nonsense 
were dissipated, the fascinations of the novel dis- 
armed, and its enervating influence upon the mind 
prevented. In this way too, coolness of judgment 
and soundness of discretion were secured, while 
the power and control of the passions was in a de- 



I PREFACE. 

gree weakened. Attention then to the study of 
mental Philosophy, had, in that particular case, a 
beneficial influence over the minds and the charac- 
ters of those who pursued the study. Again, I 
have seen many who have not enjoyed the advan- 
tages of a public education, and whose attention 
was not in early life directed to the subject of men- 
tal Philosophy, but who have, in later years, be- 
come interested in Phrenology, and, in that way, 
have been led to study the miud, to watch the op- 
erations of their own minds, — have been led to 
thought and reflection. Now, although I am neith- 
er a believer nor an unbeliever in regard to the 
claims of Phrenology, yet I siucreely believe that 
its advocates have done good, because they have 
awakened men to thought and reflection, to the 
examination of their own minds. 

I have hoped in the sketches of mental Philoso- 
phy which I have here given, to be instrumental 
to the same end. It may be that my readers will 
reject every position which I have laid down upon 
this subject, as incorrect and unsound. But they 
cannot do this without thinking, reflecting, watch- 
ing the operations of their own minds for them- 
selves. "But thinking is the very germ of self- 
cultivation." I shall, even in that case, by pro- 
voking them to thought, have been their assistant 
in self-cultivation. Indeed, I shall have accom- 
plished the very purpose for which 1 have written, 
for my object has been not to establish rnjr own po- 
sitions so much as to awaken my readers to think * 



PREFACE. xi 

and reflect, to examine and judge for themselves., 
Still further, I have hoped that by giving the 
minds of my readers this direction, by awakening 
them to this effort, I might be instrumental in lead- 
ing them to still further enquiries, as to the future 
and eternal condition of the mind or soul. I have 
feared that men have not faith in themselves as 
spiritual beings. And I have hoped that the more 
they should study themselves as intellectual, as 
thinking beings, the more would they cherish a 
faith in themselves as spiritual beings. 

I have thus stated the views and feelings with 
which this little work has been prepared. I now 
send it forth to accompany The Young Lady's 
Aid, for the favorable reception of which by the 
public I feel truly grateful, — with the prayer that 
it may be blessed to the improvement of the young 
men into whose hands it may fall; that it may 
awaken them to the importance and convince them 
of the necessity and possibility of self-cultivation, 
and be to them truly an assistant in their attempts 
to improve themselves. 

JASON WHITMAN, 



THE 

YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

LETTER I. 

IMPORTANCE OF THE SEASON OF YOUTH. 

Introduction — Season of youth important — because the 
young begin to act for themselves — Important in re- 
gard to the employment of time — the choice of com- 
panions — in regard to feelings of self-dependence and 
in regard to the formation of tastes and opinions — The 
character is in the process of formation, whether at- 
tended to or not — The importance of correct conduct in 
youth is not felt as it should be — conclusion. 

My Young Friends, 

When I have looked around me and 
have seen young men of fine talents, of lovely 
dispositions and of great promise, wasting the 
precious season of their youth, in utter indif- 
ference to all self-improvement, or worse than 
2 



14 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

wasting it, by spending it in vicious indulgen- 
ces, laying up for themselves a store of future 
wretchedness and misery, I have, involuntari- 
ly, asked why is this, how can it be prevented? 
I have thought that, perhaps, such young per- 
sons were not aware of the vast importance of 
the season of youth, its importance to their fu- 
ture happiness and to their future characters. 
I have felt that, perhaps, these very persons 
might listen attentively to one, who, from mo- 
tives of friendship and in a spirit of kindness, 
should speak to them upon the subject, and 
might even feel grateful for the advice he 
should give. I have determined, therefore, to 
address a series of letters to young men, of- 
fering them such hints and suggestions, as may 
seem to me calculated to awaken them to the 
importance of self-cultivation, and to assist 
them in their efforts to improve themselves. 

My first position, and it is one to which I 
would ask your particular attention, is, that 
the season of youth is of far more importance 
to the individual, to his future character and 
future happiness, than any other period of 
life. The period of childhood is important, 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 15 

vastly important, in its influences and conse- 
quences, which extend far onward into the fu- 
ture years of life. But its importance does f 
not come so directly home to the individual 
himself; because, during the period of child- 
hood, he is under the direction and subject to 
the control of others. Were I speaking to 
parents or guardians or teachers, I should say, 
childhood is to you the most important period 
in the lives of those placed under your care, 
because the formation of their characters is 
more entirely under your control at that than 
at any other period of their lives. For the 
same reason, I say to the young man, the sea- 
son of youth is to you the most important pe- 
riod of life; because the formation of your 
character is then more entirely under your 
own control than at any other season of life. 
In childhood your conduct is directed by oth- 
ers. In manhood your conduct will be shap- 
ed by the habits which you have formed dur- 
ing childhood and youth, which will have be- 
cqme too fixed and obstinate to be controlled 
by the exercise of the will. It is then dur- 
ing the season of youth, during the period 



16 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

from boyhood to maturity, that the formation 
of your characters is most entirely within your 
own power. During that period, you begin to 
act, more fully than you have ever before done, 
for yourselves, you are, to a greater extent 
than before, your own masters. In childhood 
it was your parents or guardians who thought 
and made selections for you, and who felt 
anxious for you. Did they perceive, that, by 
spending your time in idleness, you were con- 
tracting bad habits? With how much anxiety 
were they filled, how carefully, how intensely 
did they exercise their thoughts in providing 
for you employment, and such employment as 
might be agreeable to you? Of all this pa- 
rental anxiety you were ignorant. You had 
only to follow their directions and engage in 
the employment which they pointed out. Did 
they perceive that you were in danger of ruin 
from the evil influence of bad associates? — 
With how much greater anxiety were they 
now filled? How many thoughtful days and 
sleepless nights did they pass in determining 
how they might rescue you from your danger, 
what counsel and advice they might give, and 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 17 

what selection of companions they might re- 
commend? Of all this you were ignorant. — 
And, perhaps, you made all this tenfold great- 
er than it otherwise would have been, by 
your unwillingness to follow readily their sug- 
gestions. 

But now, in these and in many other respects 
all is changed. Many of you now leave pa- 
rents and home, that you may enjoy better 
opportunities of becoming acquainted with busi- 
ness, and of preparing for the active duties of 
life. And those of you, who remain at home, 
find your situations much changed. You are 
so much away from your parents, that you 
can scarcely be regarded as under their watch 
or subject to their control. You are now call- 
ed upon to think, to select, and to act for 
yourselves. You are now exposed to dan- 
gers, not perhaps to greater dangers than 
those to which you were exposed in childhood. 
But they will appear to you to be greater, for 
you are to meet and to overcome them your- 
selves, in reliance upon your own individual en- 
ergy, and not through the assistance of others. 

The danger to which you are now exposed 
*2 



18 young man's assistant. 

you will especially feel in regard to the right 
improvement of time. Although most of your 
time will be employed in your regular pur- 
suits, still you will have many hours of leis- 
ure. This portion of your time you will re- 
gard as your own, to be spent as you please, 
without direction or control from your parents 
or your employers. And here let me assure 
you that all interested in your welfare are 
watching with intense interest, to note the 
manner in which you spend these leisure hours. 
It is often the case, that one whose conduct 
is perfectly correct while under the control of 
others, and who is perfectly contented and 
happy to be under that control, seems to have 
no power of employing himself during his leis- 
ure hours, no capacity to estimate aright the 
bearing of different pursuits upon future char- 
acter. He has no definite and fixed purpose 
before him and is striving to accomplish no 
particular object. And, therefore, he is in 
great danger of becoming the sport of any 
companion that may solicit, any fancy that 
may suggest itself, or any temptation that may 
assail him. 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH, 19 

There are others, who have been restrained 
by parental authority, and who now seem dis- 
posed to indemnify themselves for what they 
think they have lost and suffered. They give 
loose reins to their appetites, propensities and 
passions, and become reckless of all future 
consequences. And thus it often happens, 
that those who have been trained by parents 
in the most strict and careful manner, become 
dissipated and profligate as soon as left to 
themselves. You perceive, then, that there 
may be much correctness of conduct while 
under the care of parents and while devoted 
to the regular employments of the day, and at 
the same time, much incorrectness in the man- 
ner of spending leisure hours. And which of 
these seasons, the season of regular employ- 
ment, or that of leisure, do you suppose 
is regarded with the greatest anxiety by friends, 
which is considered as giving the clearest in- 
dication of what may be expected in your fu- 
ture characters? I can assure you it is the 
short season of leisure, rather than the longer 
season of regular employment. And why so 
you ask? I will tell you. Your friends per- 



20 young man's assistant. 

ceive that, even now, every moment, which is 
at your disposal, is wasted in idleness or given 
up to dissipation. And this circumstance they 
regard as indicative of your present taste, and 
a fearful omen of the manner in which a still 
larger portion of your time will be spent, when 
it comes to be all at your own disposal. 

Still further, every hour, at this period of 
your life, is exerting its influence in forming 
habits, infixing tastes, and in determining the 
future character. If your leisure time is, even 
now, wasted in idleness or devoted to dissipa- 
tion, you are strengthening within you a fond- 
ness, a taste for this mode of spending time, 
and will be forming a habit, which, before you 
are aware of your danger, will become so fix- 
ed and so pov/erful, that it will be almost im- 
possible ever to break through its chains. If, 
then, you are now prompted, the moment you 
have a little time at your own disposal, to look 
around for some amusement, you are laying 
the foundation, let me tell you, of a habit of 
the most ruinous character. But you may 
say, this cannot be, because if the conduct be 
correct during that larger portion of the day, 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 21 

which is devoted to regular employment, a 
habit will be formed, which will counteract 
the influence, which might otherwise result 
from our spending our leisure hours in an im- 
proper manner. In answer, I would say, that 
the influence of actions in the formation of hab- 
its, depends much upon the state of the feel- 
ings, upon the degree of interest, with which 
those actions are performed. Actions per- 
formed reluctantly, in obedience to another, 
or with feelings of indifference, will on that 
account, exert but little influence in forming 
and fixing habits. On the other hand, actions, 
which are performed with deep interest, will, 
from the interest which is felt in them, do 
much towards fixing habits. The influence 
then of one class of actions rather than of 
another in forming and fixing habits, will de- 
pend not upon the greater amount of time de- 
voted to them, but upon the greater degree of 
interest felt in them. This you at once per- 
ceive, in learning any art where practical skill 
is desired. Take the art of writing as a fa- 
miliar illustration. Two persons may write 
the same number of words, the hands may go 



22 young man's assistant. 

through the same motions, and yet the result 
may be widely different. One may engage 
heartily in the work, while the other enters 
upon it with indifference, perhaps with reluc- 
tance. You perceive, therefore, that you 
may devote ten hours a day to your regular 
employments, while you spend but three hours 
of leisure in idleness or in dissipation, and yet 
the habits will be more fixed, and the future 
character will be more determined, by the lat- 
ter, than by the former; because the latter 
will be your voluntary course, the former may 
be a matter of reluctance. But enough has I 
trust been said to shew the importance of a 
right employment of time and especially of 
leisure hours during the season of youth. 

Nearly connected with the right improve- 
ment of time is the choice of companions. — 
In this respect your situation is now much 
changed from what it was in boyhood. Then, 
your associates were too young to think much 
of what might seem to be your neglect of them. 
If they perceived that their advances towards 
intimacy or acquaintance were made with cold- 
ness and reserve, they were not disturbed by 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 23 

it. They did not resent it, for they attribu- 
ted it all to a parent's advice or a parent's 
command. But now they regard you as act- 
ing for yourselves, upon your own responsi- 
bility, and from the promptings of your own 
feelings. If, then, they perceive that you 
manifest no fondness for their society, they 
are disturbed, are ready to ask you the cause, 
and to resent what they regard as an unjusti- 
fiable neglect of them. Here then you are 
called upon to think, to weigh well the rea- 
sons which may influence you in your choice 
of companions, and, in your neglect of those 
who may seek your more intimate acquain- 
tance. You will feel that you must no lon- 
ger act from mere caprice, but that you should 
be guided in this by reason and principle. — 
And remember too, that should censure and 
reproach be cast upon you, you have now no 
one on whom you may cast the blame of your 
choice, that you are acting upon your own re- 
sponsibility, and must yourselves bear the con- 
sequences of your conduct. Here then, you 
perceive, you are called to take a stand, to 
choose and act for yourselves, from tbe prompt- 



24 

ings of your own feelings, from the decisions 
of your own judgment, and with a willingness 
to bear yourselves the reproach which may be 
attached to your choice, should it be such as 
to bring upon you reproach. You are called 
upon, as you never have been before, to cher- 
ish a feeling of self-dependence and of self-con- 
fidence. 

Nay, more. This feeling of self-depen- 
dence, you are to cherish, not only in regard 
to the choice of companions, but in regard to 
all things. When a child, how often have you 
said, or at least how often have you thought 
to yourself, C I would not do this, I would 
not do that, if my parents had not command- 
ed it'. And why? Because it was some- 
thing calculated to expose you to the sneers 
and the laugh of your companions. Now 
that you are left to yourselves and have be- 
come, in a certain sense, your own masters, 
there will be great danger that you will be 
prevented from following out the convictions 
of your own consciences, through fear of 
the ridicule and sneers and laugh of your 
companions. You are therefore called upon 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 25 

to act from high and honorable motives, in 
much self-reliance, in much independence of 
others. Do your companions laugh? And 
are you afraid of this laugh? And shall this 
always be so? This question you are now 
to determine, your characters in this respect 
you are now to form. If you lose your 
self-reliance, your independence and yield 
to this feeling now, there can be no cal- 
culation as to what your future character 
will be. You may be kind hearted and may 
have correct views as to all the proprieties 
of life. You may see and approve the right, 
and yet be always driven to the wrong, by 
your fear of the ridicule of others. The 
season of youth is then you perceive, in this 
respect, of the utmost importance to your- 
selves. You are now to commence the 
practice, that so you may lay the foundation for 
a fixed and controlling habit, of acting in all 
things from an unwavering devotion to prin- 
ciple, an unwavering regard to duty and to 
right, relying upon the approbation of your 
conscience to support you amid the sneers 
of your companions^ should your conduct ex- 

3 



26 YOUNG man's assistant. 

pose you to their sneers. This you have 
not been called upon to do, so fully before. 
Now then is the trying time. This is a sea- 
son of the utmost importance. But, if you 
are only true to yourselves in your present 
practices, a habit will soon be formed which 
will prevent all future difficulty. 

Still further, the season of youth is the 
season when your tastes and opinions are 
forming. And, as you well know, much of 
your happiness and much of the respectabil- 
ity and value of your characters will depend 
on the right formation of these. You have 
seen some who have acquired tastes for 
pleasures of a pure and an elevated character, 
the pleasures of reading and conversation 
and thought, and others who have acquired 
tastes for rough and boisterous merriment, and 
others still who have acquired the taste for 
hearing and telling news. These different 
tastes give the cast to character, and deter- 
mine the kind of happiness which shall be 
sought, whether it shall exert a purifying, el- 
evating and refining influence upon conduct 
or not. These tastes are generally formed 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 27 

•during the period of which I am now speak- 
ing. They are now within your power, un- 
der your control. It is for you to say, and 
to say it now what they shall be. 

Then too as to opinions, you may think, 
that in regard to these, there is but little dif- 
ference in the different periods of life. But 
it is not so. In childhood, you were not 
capable of forming valuable opinions. In 
manhood you will find that your opinions 
will be shaped and colored by the habit, 
which during the season of youth, you have 
established, as to the manner of forming your 
opinions. By this T mean that, during the 
season of youth you will form a habit of 
making up your opinions in one way rather 
than in another. For example. You may 
form the habit of making up an opinion at 
once, without examining evidence, and upon 
the impulse of the moment, or you may 
form the opposite habit, of examining evi- 
dence and weighing probabilities and care- 
fully drawing conclusions. So too you may 
form the habit of changing your opinions 
with every varying breath, or of adhering to 



£8. YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

them obstinately to the neglect of all reasons 
in their support, or of conscientiously regu- 
lating them by the preponderance of evi- 
dence. You may not indeed retain the pre- 
cise opinions which you now form. But 
you will retain the same habit in regard to 
the manner of forming opinions. And this 
habit will do much towards determining the 
respectability and value of your future char- 
acters. You have often, I presume, seen 
men, who have been spoken slightingly of, and 
for whose opinion no respect has been mani- 
fested. You have asked the reason of this. 
The answer has been, they are men of im- 
pulse, and of prejudice, and but little de- 
pendence is to be placed upon their opinions. 
And then you have seen others, whose opin- 
ions are always treated with respect, and 
who are often called upon by their fellow men 
to decide differences which have sprung up 
between them. And yet their talents and 
capacities were not superior to those of the 
class before noticed. But then they are men 
who have formed the habit of weighing and 
examining before deciding, and of govern- 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 29 

Ins; themselves by the preponderance of evi- 
dence. The habits of the two classes, as to 
the manner of forming opinions, are differ- 
ent. And this is what constitutes the ground 
of difference in the respectability and value 
of their characters. Thus, you perceive, 
that in regard to the right improvement of 
time, the right choice of companions, the 
cherishing of feelings of individual indepen- 
dence and self-reliance, and the formation of 
tastes and opinions, the season of youth is 
of the utmost importance to yourselves. 

There is one consideration which shews 
in a peculiarly striking manner the impor- 
tance of this period. It is this. At this pe- 
riod, the character is actually in the process 
of formation, in all the respects which I have 
noticed. Whether you may be aware of this 
or not, whether you may be exerting your- 
selves to form it aright or not, still it is form- 
ing. In regard to the right improvement of 
time, for example, if you neglect to form 
correct habits in this respect, if you leave 
yourselves to be governed in the employ- 
ment of your time, as the circumstances 



30 young man's assistant. 

around, or the impulse of the moment may 
direct, and cherish the thought that you are 
forming no distinct habits in this respect,, 
you will find yourselves to have been most 
sadly mistaken. A habit will, during all this, 
time, have been creeping over you, throw- 
ing around you its chains, and drawing them 
closer and closer. This habit has been 
forming in a gradual manner it is true, as all 
habits are formed, in an imperceptible man- 
ner, it may be, but none the less surely, none 
the less powerfully on that account. Your 
character then in this respect is in a process 
of formation during -the season of youth, 
whether you are aware of it or not. And it 
is the same in regard to the proper choice of 
companions. If you neglect to exercise 
judgment in the selection of associates, 
those, who are idle and dissipated and always 
seeking for new companions and especially 
for companions whom they can direct and 
control, will seek your society and solicit 
your companionship. And as you have no 
particular reason why you should refuse, you 
will naturally yield to their solicitations. You, 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 31 

will become for the most part their associ- 
ates. And then the virtuous and correct, 
regarding your frequent appearance with such 
as an indication of your tastes, will naturally 
withdraw from you, not wishing to intrude 
where they are not wanted. And thus, with- 
out any intention on your part, simply from 
your carelessness in this respect, you will 
have become the constant associates of evil 
companions. And so in regard to every part 
of your character. It is now forming, wheth- 
er you attend to its formation or not. Should 
you be spared to middle age, your character 
will have become fixed. If you have thought 
nothing of shaping it aright before that time, 
you will then find that it is too late to hope 
for much alteration, to expect much im- 
provement. My young friends, let this idea 
come distinctly before your minds. Your 
characters are now in the process of forma- 
tion. It is now in your power, through the 
blessing of God, to say what those charac- 
ters shall be; whether they shall be marked 
by vice and profligacy, or shall be adorned 
by ajl those virtues which give respectability 



•3'2 YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT 

and secure happiness. The question with 
you, then, is not, whether you will hereafter 
sustain correct characters or have no fixed 
character at all. Characters, and fixed char- 
acters you will sustain, worthy or unworthy, 
good or bad. This you cannot help. The 
only question for you to determine is, wheth- 
er these characters shall be good or bad, cor- 
rect or incorrect. And this question you 
must determine by your practices now, while 
your characters are in the process of forma- 
tion. This you will perceive upon a mo- 
ment's reflection. Of what is character made 
up? It is made up of habits, of thinking, of 
feeling, of speaking and of acting. And of 
what are habits made up, how are they form- 
ed? By a constant repetition of the same 
acts. Suppose that now, on every occasion 
of the least excitement of feeling or of pas- 
sion you utter an oath. The repetition of 
this act will fasten upon you the habit of 
using profane language. And this habit will 
mark your future character, as being low, and 
ungentlemanly, as well as unchristian. If ev- 
er you rid yourselves of this habit, and clear 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 33 

your characters of this stain, it will be only 
by a resolute and persevering effort. And 
even then, there will be danger, that a mo- 
ment of sudden excitement of passion will 
bring you back to its use. Let it not then 
be forgotten that, how thoughtless soever 
you may now be, still your character is in 
the actual process of formation, that it is for 
you to say, and to say it now, not hereafter, 
not in middle life, not in old age, but now, 
during the season of youth, what that char- 
acter shall be. 

I am the more particular to press this con- 
sideration because I know that young men do 
not believe it, at least that they do not feel its 
truth and its importance. They feel that 
now they may be wild and gay and even, in 
some degree, dissipated, and yet that all will 
be well with them hereafter, when they shall 
have scattered the follies of their youth and 
entered upon the active business of life. Nay, 
more. There is sometimes a feeling cher- 
ished and occasionally even expressed, that 
the wildest and most thoughtless youth, will 
make the most active and enterprising man. 



34 young man's assistant. 

It sometimes happens that a dissipated youth 
reforms, becomes pure, correct and perhaps 
even distinguished. This being entirely un- 
expected, is noticed, and dwelt upon, and 
talked about, until, with many, the belief is 
current that such is the natural, or at least, 
the very frequent result. 

But if a careful examination were made, 
it would be found that the number of these 
who reform is very small, when compared 
with the number of those who are ruined by 
their youthful dissipations. Then too, even 
these few are what they are, in after life, not 
because they have been dissipated, but be- 
cause they have wept tears of bitter repen- 
tance, and have put forth struggles as for life, 
to recover themselves from their subjection 
to their dissipated habits. Still further, the 
conclusion is often too hastily adopted in re- 
gard to those who are supposed to have re- 
formed. It often happens that a young man, 
who is dissipated or at least somewhat loose- 
in his habits, reforms, enters into business, 
assumes the relation of husband, becomes a 
father and all appears to be well. This is 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 35 

•spoken of and referred to as an instance in 
proof of the position that dissipation in youth 
does not mar the prospect nor destroy the 
character of manhood. But, at length, he 
meets with difficulties in his business, is per- 
plexed and disappointed and often knows not 
which way to turn. And then he returns to 
his dissipation, and his whole future course 
is blasted. This I say is often the case. 

Let my counsel then, my young friends, sink 
deep into your hearts, that now, that the sea- 
son of youth is to you the all important pe- 
riod of life, when you are to determine, 
and to determine for yourselves, what shall 
be your future characters. 

And now my young friends, do you de- 
sire happiness? do you wish for respectabili- 
ty? would you secure the esteem of all around 
you? Remember that now is the time to 
lay the foundation for all these. Are you 
looking forward to the responsibilities of 
business? hoping for an elevation to posts of 
honor among your fellow men, or anticipat- 
ing the sweets of domestic life? Remem- 
ber that upon all these your present conduct 



36 young man's assistant, 

will exert an important and a lasting influ- 
ence. Are you hoping to maintain hereaf- 
ter, religious characters? to enjoy the gui- 
dance, the support and the consolation of the 
gospel? Remember that now is the most 
favorable time to establish your characters in 
these respects, that but few, comparatively 
speaking, who have cherished no religious, 
impressions while young, have ever become 
devotedly religious in after life. And re- 
member too, that those, who have become 
religious in after life, have found, by bitter 
experience, that they had only been treasur- 
ing up for themselves anguish and remorse. 
Do you my friends feel that the period, of 
which I am speaking, is thus important. Are 
you willing to read, reflect and enquire in 
regard to its duties and its dangers? Have 
you determined that you will endeavor to 
improve aright present time and present op- 
portunities, that you will engage resolutely 
and at once in a course of self-cultivation? — 
If so, then I may hope that you will give 
heed to the counsels I am about to offer. 



LETTER II. 



THE TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 



Recapitulation of the former letter — The prominent de- 
fect with most young persons is, that they have no 
clear and distinct views of the true object of life — The 
importance of clear views on the subject — it contrib- 
utes to greater success and to greater happiness. — Hap- 
piness not the true object of life — but spiritual im- 
provement — This appears from the constitution of 
our natures, and from the relations of life — Conclusion. 



My Young Friends, 

I addressed you in my last letter, on the 
importance of the season of youth to the 
individual himself, to his future character and 
future happiness. And I endeavored to show, 
from various considerations, that to you this 
is by far the most important period of life, 
because that, during this period, the forma- 
tion of your characters, and the sources of 
your happiness are more entirely under your 
4 



38 young man's assistant. 

own control, than at any other period of your 
life. My remarks, in my last letter, were of 
a general character. I am in this, and the 
succeeding letters, to speak of important, 
and I hope they may prove, interesting 
particulars. But where shall I begin? A 
vast field is before me, all unexplored and 
yet all interesting. I have wandered over 
this field, in thought, that I might select the 
most appropriate starting point. I have look- 
ed back upon my own former views and feel- 
ings. I have looked upon the young around 
me, and have endeavored to ascertain the 
point, in regard to which, there is the first 
and most important defect in the views and 
feelings of the young, the point in regard to 
which, the first suggestion should be whisper- 
ed in their ears. And what, you are ready 
to ask, is the conclusion? I answer, that 
the first defect, in the views and feelings of 
the young relates to the true purpose of life, 
to the one supreme object of pursuit. In 
the first place, the vast majority of young 
persons have no distinct purpose, clearly de- 
fined in their own minds, and always promi- 



IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. 39 

ncnt, as the one great purpose to be accom- 
plished by life. Suppose that I were to ques- 
tion each one of you, separately, and that 
you were to answer, each for himself, from 
the promptings of his own heart, without 
consulting each other, without knowing the 
answers given by others. Suppose I say, 
that, in this way, I should put the question, 
"what do you regard as the one supreme and 
all important object of life"? what are you 
now pursuing, as the one supreme object of 
your present efforts? what do you intend to 
pursue, as the one supreme object of the ex- 
ertions of your whole earthly being? How 
many of you, do you suppose, would be able 
to give any distinct and definite answer? — 
Alas! I fear but few, comparatively speaking, 
very few, could do this. Need I ask you 
to pause and give diligent attention, while I 
point out to you the importance of having a 
clear and distinct view of the true object of 
life? Does not the bare suggestion of the 
thought bring up to your minds at once a full 
and realizing sense of its importance? Sup- 
pose your neighbor has chartered a vessel, 



40 young man's assistant. 

has laid in stores and provisions for a long 
voyage, and has loaded her with various ar- 
ticles of merchandize. The sky is serene 
and the wind fair, and you stand upon the 
wharf, as he is about to cast off. "But whith- 
er neighbor," you very naturally ask, "whith- 
er are you bound, and what is the object of 
your voyage." How are you filled with 
surprise as he answers, I am bound to no par- 
ticular port, I am about to set forth upon a 
voyage, I shall sail east or west, north or 
south, to day in one direction, to morrow in 
a different direction, just as my fancy at the 
time may dictate, or the winds may favor. 
Whither I shall be wafted, or where I shall 
land, I know not. My object will be, to 
pass each successive day as pleasantly as I 
can, all unconcerned as to the question wheth- 
er 1 shall be driven upon the breakers, strand- 
ed upon the shoals, or wafted to brighter 
lands and purer climes. Suppose, I say, that 
such an anomaly in the affairs of men should 
happen, would you not conclude that the in- 
dividual was bereft of his reason, was la- 
boring under some strange infatuation? And 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 41 

yet is not this a true picture of the actual 
condition of many a young person? "Bound" 
as the Poet has it, u Bound on a voyage of 
awful length, through dangers little known," 
how utterly indifferent are many, as to the 
object of that voyage, or the port where it 
shall land them! They intend to pass each 
day, or each period of life as pleasantly as 
they can, but they have no clear idea of the 
object to be accomplished by the voyage it- 
self. They move in one direction to-day, 
in a different direction to-morrow, just as the 
fashions of society, the temptations around 
them, or their own whims may dictate. I 
repeat the question, have I not given a true 
picture of the real situation of many a young 
person? You have indeed objects for the 
different periods of life, but have you any 
one supreme object, clearly defined to your 
own mind, always prominently before you, 
as the object of life itself? In regard to 
many of you, I fear not. And, if not, is 
there not much more reason than in the case 
supposed, to regard such a one as bereft of 
reason, as laboring under some strange infat- 



42 young man's assistant 

nation? Pause then, I beseech you, pause 
ere it be too late, and fix in your minds some 
clear and distinct notions of the great object 
and purpose of life. 

Again, you all know that some of the ques- 
tions put to children, to call forth the lisping 
answers of their first efforts at speech, re- 
late to the uses of the bodily powers, the 
purposes for which the different organs were 
given. You have all heard the mother, ques- 
tioning her little prattler after this manner. 
"My dear, what are your eyes for?" "To 
see with," is the lisping answer. "What 
are ears for?" "To hear with." And thus 
she passes over all the bodily organs. 
Now, suppose we should carry this question- 
ing, in regard to ourselves, a little farther, 
and ask what is the intellect for, what are the 
affections for, what is conscience for? What 
are the relations of father and child, husband 
and wife, brother and sister, friend and neigh- 
bor, for? What in short, is life itself for? I 
fear that we should, many of us, find ourselves 
at a loss to give clear and distinctanswers. And 
yet, is it not important that we should have 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 43 

some clear and definite ideas as to the purposes 
for which all these are given, the right man- 
ner of employing and improving them, and 
the great object to be accomplished by the 
use of them? God, we have reason to believe, 
has created nothing, has bestowed no power, 
or faculty, in vain. All is created, all are giv- 
en, for some purpose. On man is bestowed 
the power of studying the designs of God, of 
learning why powers and capacities are given, 
the uses and the one great object of life. And 
is it not important that we should study the 
designs of God, the right manner of employ- 
ing and improving our powers and capacities, 
the true object and purpose of life? Pause, 
then, I beseech you, my young friends; pause, 
frequently, and ask yourselves, Why am I here? 
"Why have I received intellectual powers, so- 
cial affections and moral feelings? Why has 
life been given to me? Whither will it con- 
duct me? And seek an answer to these en- 
quiries, by the careful study of yourselves, 
of your relations, and of your natures, by a 
careful observation of the course of events 
and a careful study of God's word. 



44 



Still further, who, in regard to the ordina- 
ry transactions of life, meets with the great- 
est success, and makes the most progress? 
Is it not the man, who has the object of his 
pursuit distinctly defined to his own mind, an 
object which serves to concentrate all his 
thoughts and affections and efforts? I have 
seen young men, of apparently equal talents, 
equally ambitious of distinction, equally in- 
dustrious; and yet one made much greater 
progress than the other. 1 have asked for 
the cause. I was satisfied that the difference 
was to be attributed mainly to the fact, that 
while one only desired distinction in general, 
the other had fixed upon the particular branch, 
or pursuit, or profession, in which he was 
determined to excel. The object of his 
pursuit was clearly defined to his own mind, 
and he had clear and distinct notions of the 
means by which that object was to be attain- 
ed. The one was ever varying his course, 
seizing upon new studies, and engaging in 
new pursuits. The other was steady, regu- 
lar and persevering; keeping his eye fixed 
upon his object, directing his attention, when 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 45 

studies were at his own option, only to such 
as had a bearing upon this object, and ex- 
tracting from every study to which his atten- 
tion was directed, something which might 
serve to aid him in accomplishing his object. 
So it is in all the ordinary affairs of life. He, 
who has some one prominent object clearly 
defined to his own mind, as the grand object 
of pursuit, will accomplish much more, than 
he, who has not these clear notions of the 
object of pursuit. And, just so it is, in re- 
gard to the great object of life itself. He 
who has clear and distinct notions of this ob- 
ject, who understands why life was given, 
what is or ought to be, accomplished by the 
right use of life, who has fixed his eye upon 
this object with an eagle's gaze and pursues 
it with unwavering devotion, will accomplish 
much, very much, more than another, who 
is deficient in this respect. 

But finally, who, I ask, is the happy man? 
Look around you, watch, observe, enquire; 
and say who is the happy man. See that 
young man; blessed, or perhaps I should say, 
cursed with patrimonial wealth. He is en- 



46 young man's assistant. 

gaged in no particular pursuit, feels no partic- 
ular want, for the gratification of which, ef- 
fort may be necessary; he has no one en- 
grossing object of desire. He spends his 
days in seeking enjoyment from one pleasure 
after another. Is that young man, I ask, hap- 
py? The vacant stare, or listless languor of 
his countenance, the careless gait, the whole 
appearance of utter indifference, which marks 
the man, proclaim in language not to be mis- 
understood, that happiness is not his. Look 
again, see that old man. He began life with 
nothing, he has been industrious, prudent, 
upright and successful in business. He has 
passed through great and severe struggles. — 
He has long looked forward, with eager an- 
ticipation, to the time, when his accumula- 
tions would warrant him in the course which 
he is now pursuing, would authorize him to 
retire from the cares and the anxieties of 
business. But now that he has done so, is 
he happy? If you ask him, he will, with a 
sigh, give a negative answer. Ask for the 
reason, and he will tell you that he wants 
some object of affection, and thought and 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 47 

pursuit; some object which may engross his 
desires, and call forth strenuous exertions. — 
In short, wherever you look, if you find a 
man without any particular, clearly defined 
and prominent object of pursuit, you will 
find an unhappy man. And what is true of 
the temporary objects of life, is doubly true 
of the great purpose of life itself. He who 
is devotedly pursuing the one great and true 
object of life, is supported under all minor 
and temporary changes; he is filled with hap-, 
piness under all subordinate and temporary 
disappointments. And now, my young friends, 
permit me to address to you a few questions. 
Is it not reasonable to have some one great 
and prominent object of pursuit? Is it not 
important to know why we have been crea-. 
ted? why God has given us the various pow- 
ers which we possess? why we are? and what 
we are required to do and to become? Does, 
it not promote progress, does it not secure 
happiness to have the object of our pursuit 
prominently before our minds, clearly defin- 
ed to our thoughts? Have you thus endeav- 
ored to ascertain what is, with God, and 



48 young man's assistant. 

what should, with you, be the true object of 
life? Have you clear and distinct notions of 
this object, and of the means by which this 
object is to be attained? Are you permitting 
it to engross your thoughts and enlist your 
affections? If such be the case, then be ex- 
horted to press onward in this course, reso- 
lutely and perseveringly. If such be not 
the case, if you have as yet no one promi- 
nent object of pursuit, an object for which 
you are living, the one true object of life, 
then pause where you are. You wish to de- 
rive profit from the letters which I am ad- 
dressing to you from the volume put into 
your hands. Put down your finger then on 
this point, as the first and most prominent 
and most important question to be settled in 
your own minds. Be unwilling to go farther 
on in life, without understanding and devo- 
tedly pursuing the object for which life was 
given. Thus I have endeavored to meet 
one class of the young, those who have no 
distinct notions of the true purpose of life, 
who are living on, from day to day, without 
anyone prominent object of pursuit. 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 49 

But, in the second place, if the question 
proposed in the former part of my letter, the 
question as to the true object of life, were 
put, there would be found, among those who 
would feel prepared to give an answer, a great 
variety in the answers given. We may per- 
haps judge somewhat, of what these answers 
would be, if we look at the actual pursuits of 
men. Some are seeking wealth, with an ap- 
parently supreme and all absorbing devotion. 
Others are, in like manner, seeking distinc- 
tion; others are seeking other objects, with 
all the apparent zeal, which would imply that 
these are the true objects of life, and the se- 
curing them the great purpose for which we 
were created. I might here expose the fol- 
ly of devoting one's self to these temporary 
objects of pursuit. But I prefer to employ 
the remainder of this letter in exposing what 
I believe to be the root of the evil. I sup- 
pose that no one would acknowledge, for a 
moment, even to his own mind, that these, 
wealth, honor, pleasure, are to be regarded as 
the real objects of life. All would contend, 
that these are to be regarded, but as the means 

5 



50 young man's assistant. 

to a higher and more important end; and all 
would contend, that it is only in this light of 
means to ends, that they are seeking them; 
all would say that they are seeking these sev- 
eral objects, because they regard them respec- 
tively, as the sources of happiness. Under 
this confession lurks the error I would ex- 
pose. It is this, that happiness is the great 
object of life, the legitimate object of all our 
efforts; that "Happiness," as the poet has 
expressed it, "is our being's end and aim.' 5 
This is the error I wish to expose, and yet 
I am aware that there is some little difficulty 
in the attempt, and that the distinctions made, 
in doing this, may seem to be distinctions 
without a difference. I have no doubt that 
God created us for happiness, and that all 
the laws which he has established, if rightly 
observed, and all the dispensations of his 
providence, if rightly improved, are calcula- 
ted to promote our happiness. But this ad- 
mission is very different from the assertion 
that we are to fix our attention upon happi- 
ness, as the object of pursuit. A parent, 
for example, as he looks upon his child, de- 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 51 

sires that child's happiness. All that he does 
for the child, all the plans which he lays, all 
the directions which he gives and all the dis- 
cipline which he may inflict, have reference 
to the child's happiness. But this is very dif- 
ferent from saying that the child should make 
its own happiness the supreme object of pur- 
suit. Suppose, for example, that there are 
set before the child all the delicacies of 
the table, all that can excite or gratify the 
taste. The happiness of the child, at the 
time, will consist in the gratification of the ap- 
petite. The parent prescribes the bounds of 
indulgence. But the child, with his limited 
knowledge of consequences, cannot but be- 
lieve that his happiness is abridged by the 
prohibition. If you say to the child, seek 
your own happiness, make that the supreme 
object of pursuit, follow, without hesitation, 
every course, which will promote your hap- 
piness, you give him liberty to indulge his ap- 
petite to excess and to his own injury. You 
give him liberty to spend his time in play in- 
stead of employing it in healthful study. I 
am aware that some will say, you mistake us., 



52 young man's assistant. 

what we mean when we say that happiness 
should be the object of pursuit, is happiness 
in the long run. I know you say this. But 
this is in vain. What can the child know of 
the consequences of actions in the long run? 
He may have heard you tell of the future 
and distant consequences of actions, but he 
has not seen, he does not know, he can hard- 
ly believe, and yet, when a temptation assails 
him, it is as a child that it assails him, and he 
is to determine as he is, a child with only a 
child's knowledge, and if he makes happiness 
the object of his pursuit, it must be what ap- 
pears to him to be happiness, not what you 
tell him is happiness. But, in regard to the 
child, you see the folly of making happiness 
the supreme object of pursuit. For if he 
does this, he must depend on his parents to 
point out the courses, which will produce hap- 
piness. Why not, then, cut the matter short 
at once, and direct the child to follow implic- 
itly the directions of the father, in confidence 
that happiness will be the result of obedience? 
So it is with us, in regard to God. We are 
commanded to deny ourselves, to take up our 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 53 

cross; we are required to love our enemies, to 
do as we would be done by. But we cannot, 
until after long experience, see that happiness 
is the result of these courses of conduct. At 
the very time when we are called upon to 
perform these various duties, they appear to 
us to be in opposition to our happiness. In 
short, he who determines to pursue, with un- 
hesitating and unwavering devotion the rules 
and principles of the gospel, will often have to 
pursue courses, which give no hopes of hap- 
piness as the result. He may be assured, by 
his faith in the divine promises, that happi- 
ness will be the final result. But he has not 
seen it, he does not know it, nor can he see 
how this can be? It is only a matter of faith 
with him. And this is not the reason which 
influences him to pursue the course. He does 
this because it is required by the gospel and 
because he has an unwavering confidence in 
the wisdom and goodness of God and in the 
tendency of all his commands to produce final 
happiness. Those who prescribe the pursuit 
of happiness as the pursuit of life, are obliged 
,io come back to the same point, and to urge 

5 # 



54 YOUNG MAN S S ASSISTANT. 

their followers to regard happiness as the re* 
suit of certain courses, even where they can- 
not see that it is, where it must be mere mat- 
ter of faith. But, when temptation assails us, 
it meets us as we are, as men with a limited 
knowledge of consequences. There is dan- 
ger that it will overcome us, before we can 
bring up to the mind's eye, as living realities, 
the dim and indistinct visions of faith. Why 
not, here, as before, cut the matter short at 
once, and teach men to make it the rule of 
their lives to obey the divine will, with implicit 
readiness, in perfect confidence that the in- 
finite goodness of the deity will cause that 
happiness near or remote shall be the result of 
obedience. This I. am satisfied is the true, 
the proper course. And I am the more fully 
satisfied of this, because I think that my own 
experience and observation have confirmed my 
theoretical conclusions. I have seen those, 
who made happiness the object of pursuit, 
who were asking how will this or that course 
promote our happiness. But I never yet saw 
such a one happy, for any continuous period 
of time. I have seen others, who were ask- 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 55 

ing what does duty require, what good can 
we do? And I have noticed that such, in what- 
ever circumstances they were placed, were 
comparatively happy. It is with this., very 
much as it is with regard to health. There 
are some, who seem to make their own health 
and its promotion and preservation the one su- 
preme object of thought and enquiry and ef- 
fort; and such are, usually, in ill health. There 
are others, who press forward in the discharge 
of their duties, making health but a secondary 
object of enquiry; and such, if they are really 
blessed with no more health, enjoy that health 
much more than the class before alluded to. — * 
So here, those who make happiness the ob- 
ject of pursuit, who are asking how they feel 
and what they enjoy in the various circum- 
stances in which they are placed, will, in most 
cases, be miserable. Let this then, my young 
friends, be laid down as a fixed and unaltera- 
ble principle, that happiness is not to be the 
supreme object of your pursuit, that you are 
to ask, not what will conduce to your happi- 
ness, but what duty requires. There may be 
cases? in which, of two courses, one will be as 



56 YOUNG 

much in obedience to duty as the other, while 
it bids fair to be much more pleasant— that of 
two situations, in either of which you will be 
in the path of duty and of usefulness, the one 
will be more pleasant than the other. In such 
cases, you are frequently right in pursuing 
that which bids fair to be the most pleasant. 

But here, you will perhaps say, 1 have not 
come to the point. God cannot be said to 
have created us, in order that we may obey 
him, that this may be the rule, but that it can- 
not be the object of life. True I have not, 
as yet, reached the point. But T have taken 
this, as the most sure path of attaining it. Let 
it then be admitted, as all do admit, that the 
will of God is to be the rule of life. I say 
all admit this, for I believe that those, who 
regard happiness as the object, will admit that 
the will of God is the rule of life. What 
then, to come still nearer to the point, 
what is the true object of life, for what were 
we created? To this question I answer our 
own spiritual improvement is the true object 
of life, our happiness is the consequent, the 
attendant, upon this. The happiness of God., 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 57 

if we be allowed to lift our thoughts so high, 
is the result of the perfection of his spiritual 
nature and holy character, the result of his pu- 
rity, and holiness, and benevolence. I sup- 
pose that the highest happiness, of which man 
is capable, is the result, the consequent, the 
attendant upon the highest degree of spiritual 
elevation and purity and perfection to which 
he may reach. Our own moral and spiritual 
improvement, then, I regard as the one great 
object of life. I look upon this life as pre- 
paratory to another. I consider the formation 
of correct moral characters, the cultivation of 
correct moral feelings, and the development 
of our spiritual capacities, as the mode ap- 
pointed by God for accomplishing in us this 
preparation, as the object for the accomplish- 
ment of which we are placed in this world, 
the object for which life was given, and ca- 
pacities bestowed, and relations ordained. 

I am confirmed in this position, by every 
view which I take, of human nature, and of 
the relations of life. In regard to human na- 
ture, if you look at the child, his first en- 
joyment consists in the exercises of the senses. 



58 young man's assistant. 

There is enjoyment in the exercise of these, 
and yet the result of this exercise is to strength- 
en, develope and improve the senses them- 
selves, and to store the mind with the materi- 
als on which the intellect is to work, a knowl- 
edge of those qualities in the things and per- 
sons around, on which the affections are to 
fasten themselves. Soon the affections begin 
to manifest themselves. The child manifests 
love for its parents and for others around. — 
Then the intellectual powers begin to develope 
themselves. The child begins, in his own 
weak way, to reason upon the objects of its 
knowledge, to reflect, to compare and draw con- 
clusions, as to the why, the how, and the where- 
fore. Then there are manifested the moral 
feelings, the dictates of conscience, and finally 
those higher, and purer and more spiritual ca- 
pacities of the soul. By these, I mean the 
power of holding communion with things in- 
visible, with God and our own souls, and an 
invisible world. In the simple exercise of all 
these various powers, there is pleasure. In the 
excessive or improper exercise of them all, 
there is danger. There is pleasure in the 



TJIUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 59 

gratification of the appetites, the exercise of 
the bodily senses, the exertions of the powers 
of motion. There is danger in the excessive 
gratification of the appetites, in the wrong ap- 
propriation of the affections in the improper 
direction which intellectual efforts may take. 
These various powers are nearly connected 
with each other. You perceive that the senses 
are the servants of the intellect and the af- 
fections; the affections and the intellect are 
the servants of the moral powers; the moral 
powers themselves, are the servants of the 
more spiritual part of our natures. The mo- 
ral powers are exercised upon the knowledge 
gained by the intellect. The careful and cor- 
rect exercise of the moral powers, the faith- 
ful performance of duties, promotes spiritual 
improvement, prepares the soul for a spiritual 
existence, and for spiritual joys. Thus, when 
I look at what man is by nature, I see all the 
parts of his nature subservient to the spirit- 
ual; when they are all rightly exercised and 
improved, they all serve to promote spiritual 
or in other words religious growth. And this 
view, abstract though it may seem, is of the 



60 young man's ASSISTANT. 

utmost importance, and of importance especial- 
ly to you who are now in the early part of your 
life, and it is of importance that you should, 
now, while you are young, acquire clear and 
distinct notions of the relative position of the 
different parts of your nature, and should look 
upon all as subservient to spiritual growth, and 
upon spiritual growth as the one great object 
of life. 

Then look at the relations of life. There 
are father and child, husband and wife, brother 
and sister, rich and poor, neighbor and friend. 
Is it not evident that, morally and spiritually 
speaking, we are improved by aright discharge 
of the duties of these relations? The affec- 
tions are called forth and trained, we learn to 
bring selfish desires into subjection to benevo- 
lent feelings, to deny ourselves for the good of 
others; our own joys are increased by being 
shared by others, while their sympathy serves 
to alleviate our griefs. The result then, of a 
right performance of the duties of our several 
relations, is moral and spiritual improvement. 
Therefore, I say, that these relations were es- 
tablished for the purpose of promoting this 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 61 

moral and spiritual improvement, and this, our 
own moral and spiritual improvement is the 
object to be sought in the midst of them all. 

Look at the various duties and trials of life. 
It is your duty to be diligent and industrious; 
if you are faithful in the discharge of this duty, 
you will find yourself, morally speaking, im- 
proved. It is your duty to be temperate and 
benevolent; if you are faithful in the discharge 
of these duties, your own feelings will be ben- 
efitted, you will find yourselves, morally and 
spiritually speaking, improved. And so of all 
the duties of life. He who is faithful in the 
performance of them, will find himself morally 
and spiritually improved by that faithfulness. 
Therefore, I say, that the object of these du- 
ties, so far as we are concerned, is the promo- 
tion of our moral and spiritual improvement, 
and that this is the object which we should aim 
to accomplish by the performance of them. 

So in regard to the situations and circum- 
stances of life. Are you in prosperity? You 
have an opportunity for the exercise of benev- 
olence. If you are faithful to exercise your 
benevolent feelings, you will find that they are 
6 



62 young man's assistant. 

strengthened, and that your character is, in 
this respect, improved. Are you in adver- 
sity? You have a call to exercise the vir- 
tues of patience and cheerful resignation. — 
If you are faithful in exercising these virtues 
you will find your characters improved, and 
your souls benefitted. If then the natural 
consequences of the right performance of the 
duties arising from these circumstances is the 
promotion of our moral and spiritual improve- 
ment, may we not conclude that these cir- 
cumstances were allotted for this purpose, as 
subservient to our moral and spiritual good? 

So in regard to the relaxations and amuse- 
ments of life; when of the right kind, and prop- 
erly regulated, they all serve to promote mo- 
ral and spiritual improvement. Therefore, 
I contend that the great and final object to be 
promoted is our own moral and spiritual im- 
provement. So it is with all the doctrines, 
and all the ordinances of religion; when be- 
lieved with a living faith, when observed with 
right feelings, they all serve to promote mo- 
ral and spiritual improvement. If then I be 
asked why is life given? I answer, that we 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 63 

might have an opportunity for spiritual train- 
ing, for moral culture. If asked why rela- 
tions are ordained, prosperity and adversity 
allotted? I answer, that by means of them 
we might promote our moral and spiritual 
growth. If asked in short what should be 
the one, great, supreme, all absorbing object 
of pursuit? I answer, it should be our own 
moral and spiritual improvement. This is 
the object of life, this the great end of earth- 
ly existence. I am aware that some may ob- 
ject to this. The answer in our old cate- 
chisms may be quoted in opposition, that 
"the chief end of man is to glorify God." — 
But how is God glorified? By the increased 
moral and spiritual improvement of his crea- 
tures, of his children. He then that would 
answer the chief end of his being and glori- 
fy God, must live for his own spiritual im- 
provement. Another may say that the object 
of life should be to do good to others. I 
am aware that this is a very important duty, 
hut 1 believe that God has so ordered, that 
this is but a means of our own spiritual good. 
And here, my young friends, I would urge 



64 young man's assistant. 

upon your attention the view which I have 
presented. Here you are, in the midst of 
relations, exposed to trials and afflictions, 
and surrounded by duties. These are vari- 
ous, apparently conflicting and distracting in 
their claims. Select then as the object of 
life your own moral and spiritual improve- 
ment. This will serve to simplify all per- 
plexity and conduct you safely through the 
labyrinth. I would urge it upon you to se- 
lect this as the one supreme object of pur- 
suit, on account of your own happiness, and 
your own improvement. I have carefully 
observed, my friends, what it is to be without 
any one supreme and engrossing object of 
pursuit, the object of a whole life. The in- 
dividual is not indeed without objects of pur- 
suit, but they are temporary and in them 
there is much liability to disappointment. — 
Is he seeking wealth as the supreme object 
of desire? He may be disappointed, and 
his disappointment will give him great pain. 
But, if he is seeking his own moral and spir- 
itual improvement, he will indeed engage in 
business, aid he may seek wealth, but these 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 65 

will be secondary objects of pursuit, and, if 
disappointed, he will feel that the great ob- 
ject for which he is laboring, his own moral 
and spiritual improvement, may be promoted 
by a patient submission to disappointment, 
as well as by successful effort, in business. 
Then too, when disappointed, his disappoint- 
ment, not relating to the essential interests 
of his soul, to the one supreme object of 
pursuit, will not leave that void in his affec- 
tions, which it otherwise would. He will 
only feel that he has been disappointed 
in regard to some of the means, and not in 
regard to the object itself, which he is su- 
premely seeking. I can assure you, that, if you 
will regard your own moral and spiritual im- 
provement, as the supreme object of pursuit, 
it will sweeten the bitterest cup, which may be 
put to your lips; it will enable you to im- 
prove, for the highest and best purposes, the 
most broken, the most frequently interrup- 
ted and the most changeable life. 

I urge nothing more, my young friends, 
than what you may, every one of you, 
undertake at once. Whether you are satisfied 

6* 



$6 young 

in regard to the claims, doctrines and ordi- 
nances of religion or not, you can this day 
resolve that henceforth you will make your 
own moral improvement the great object of 
all your desires and efforts. And this I am 
the more desirous to see you do, because I 
would have young men start right — -aim at a 
proper object; one which may be sought su- 
premely; one which may be sought constant- 
ly, amid all changes and through the whole 
life. If you adopt this principle, you will 
be prepared to look from a proper and im- 
portant point of view, upon the changes, cir- 
cumstances and trials of life; upon its rela- 
tions and duties; upon your own relaxations 
and amusements. Then will you, in all prob- 
ability, be constantly progressing. Then 
will this life be the scene of much happiness 
as it passes, while it may become the foun- 
dation of much future felicity. 

Remember then my young friends the in- 
structions of my letter; that it is the part of 
reason, that it will promote improvement and 
secure happiness, to have some one distinct 
object of pursuit, clearly defined to. your owe 



TRUE OBJECT OF LIFE. 67 

mind, as the one supreme object of desire 
and of effort, not for a day only, or a year 9 
but for life. That happiness is not to be the 
supreme object of pursuit, that your own mo- 
ral and spiritual improvement is well worthy 
of being regarded as the supreme object of 
desire and effort; and that this object is to be 
sought by a course of undeviating devotion 
to the will and commands of God, 



LETTER III. 

INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 

Introduction — The necessity of independence of charac- 
ter shown. 1st. That we may bear up under evil re- 
port. 2d. That we may form opinions for ourselves 
and adhere to them although others may differ from us. 
3d. That we may withstand the undue influence of 
organized and associated efforts — Mistakes upon the 
subject. 1st. It is a mistake to think that we must 
differ from all around us. 2d. It is a mistake to think 
that we have become truly independent when we have 
only exchanged masters. 3d. It is a mistake to think 
that we are truly independent when we are slaves to 
our own appetites — The true nature of real indepen- 
dence of character. 1st. Cannot be independent of 
truth in regard to opinions, nor of duty in regard to 
conduct — should try to be independent of every thing 
which would draw us aside from truth and duty — we 
may be led astray from truth and duty by the undue 
influences of our prejudices against those who differ 
from us — by the undue influence of our party attach- 
ments — by the undue influence of our own self-love — 
True independence of character consists in an entire 
and unreserved devotion to truth and duty — It is based 
upott deeply seated, firmly fixed religious principle. 



independence of character 69 

My Young Friends, 

I have spoken in my two last letters of the 
importance of the season of youth, and have 
endeavored to point out the true object of life. 
But I have thought that even should you deep- 
ly feel the importance of this period— that 
even should you have correct ideas of the true 
object of life, and be desirous of devoting your- 
selves unreservedly to the pursuit of that ob- 
ject, you are in danger of being turned aside 
from your course, unless you cultivate true in- 
dependence of character. I have noticed, al- 
so, that many, who seem to have felt deeply 
the importance of true independence of char- 
acter, have fallen into strange mistakes in re- 
gard to its real nature and proper foundation. — 
I deem it of the utmost importance, therefore, 
at this stage of my remarks to urge upon you 
the importance of true independence of char- 
acter — -to point out some of the mistakes in 
regard to it a into which the young are most li- 
able to fall, and to explain to you its real na- 
ture and its proper foundation. But in doing 
this I shall leave the epistolary form of ad- 
dress and simply lay before you the substance 



70 young man's assistant. 

of a discourse upon the subject, which I pre- 
pared sometime since, when called upon to 
address an assembly of young men. 

1st. I am to speak of the necessity of in- 
dependence of character. We are all, at times, 
called to pass through evil report. We are 
all exposed to the misrepresentation, reproach 
and censure of our fellow men. This mis- 
representation and reproach may arise from 
two causes. There are those, who have be- 
come soured in their feelings. They cannot 
endure to hear of a neighbors extending rep- 
utation or increasing success. They delight 
to put the worst construction upon all unfa- 
vorable appearances in conduct, and to attri- 
bute even praiseworthy actions to improper 
motives. When others speak in favor, they 
are heard to cavil, and, should they ever be- 
stow praise, it is well seasoned with detraction, 
it is followed by some not merely qualifying 
remark, but by some clause of complete nulli- 
fication to all that has been said before. 

Again. There are those, who honestly 
and conscientiously misrepresent and reproach 
the conduct of their neighbors. For instance. 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 71 

I may be perfectly sincere in my endeavors 
to do in all things my duty, according to the 
extent of my knowledge and the best of my 
ability. But in doing this, I must of course 
follow my own ideas of propriety. In these I 
may differ from every one around me. Con- 
sequently, my conduct will appear to my neigh- 
bors entirely different from what it does to me. 
And they, judging as they must from their own 
ideas of propriety, and representing my con- 
duct as it appears to them, although honest 
and conscientious, may misrepresent it as it is 
in reality, arid as characterized by the motives 
which gave rise to it, and by the principles by 
which it was regulated. Thus, in one or oth- 
er of these ways, it frequently happens, that 
while we are pressing boldly on in the dis- 
charge of what we believe to be duty, sup- 
ported and animated by the consciousness of 
our own good intentions, the whisper of sus- 
picion is abroad, our conduct is misrepresent- 
ed, our motives are suspected, our endeavors 
and good intentions are misinterpreted, and a 
construction is put upon all we do, injurious 
to our characters, destructive of our happi- 



72 young man's assistant, 

ness and withering to our hopes. Whether 
these evil reports arise from wilful misrepre- 
sentation or from honest misunderstanding, the 
effect on us is somewhat the same. In both 
cases we suffer, in the one from our neighbor's 
fault, in the other, it may be, from our own 
misfortune. In both cases we are in danger., 
either of becoming soured in our feelingSj and 
of misrepresenting in our turn the conduct of 
others, or of sitting down in the utter hope- 
lessness of despair, oppressed with the feeling 
that we are alone in the world, that every man's 
hand is against us, and that, let us do what 
we will, all is and must be wrong in the eyes 
of our neighbors. In both cases we shall feel 
the necessity of true independence of charac- 
ter to support us under such heart withering 
trials. 

Still further, we may be situated among 
those who have formed their opinions on vari- 
ous subjects upon a model revolting to our feel- 
ings, who have embraced views that appear 
to us erroneous, and not only erroneous but 
dishonorable to God and injurious to man, 
views which we could not embrace if we would, 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER 73 

so incongruous do they seem to the eye of our 
reason, and so contradictory to the instructions 
of scripture, views which, if we will be hon- 
est and faithful to the convictions of our under- 
standings, we must openly and decidedly re- 
ject. Yet if we do honestly renounce these 
views, and openly declare our convictions, the 
persons, whom we respect and esteem, and 
whose good opinion we wish to retain, will 
cast us off. We shall be censured, condemn- 
ed, pointed at with the finger of scornful sus- 
picion, yea, marked out and avoided as the 
pests of society. Let me here be fully un- 
derstood. I am not speaking in reference to 
any particular class of men. My remarks are 
general and I do sincerely believe will apply, 
in a greater or less degree, to all classes. Here 
too, as before, we shall be in danger of becom- 
ing censorious or of yielding to despair. We 
shall feel the need of some principle more 
permanent and more powerful than the sim- 
ple impulses of our nature, the need of true 
independence of character to animate and en- 
courage us in our walk. 

Once more. This trait of character seems 
7 



74 young man's assistant. 

to be peculiarly necessary at the present time. 
There are circumstances in the moral, the po- 
litical and the religious world, which require 
of every one a more than ordinary exercise of 
true independence. I allude to the propensity 
which all must have noticed, for union of ef- 
fort, combination of forces, concentration of 
exertions. At the present day, whatever is 
attempted, must be effected by means of well 
organized, closely connected and widely ex- 
tended associations. It is not enough that a 
person is engaged in the cause, is willing to 
labor, choosing at the same time to regulate his 
labors, in accordance with his own ideas of 
propriety and expediency, he must form his 
plans and govern his exertions by the rules of 
some generally adopted system. Are you wil- 
ling to exert yourselves in the cause of tem- 
perance or to labor for the advancement of re- 
ligious education, while you prefer to be guided 
in your exertions by such rules as you may 
consider best adapted to your peculiar circum- 
stances and wants? All this is not satisfactory. 
You must connect yourself with, and conform 
yourself to, some party, sect or association.— 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 75 

These parties, sects and associations may be, 
they undoubtedly have been attended with 
highly beneficial results. But they are attend- 
ed also with their dangers. In our associated 
and combined capacity, we are in danger of 
forgetting our individual responsibility. We 
approve or condemn, not according to our own 
private judgment, but according to the opin- 
ion of those with whom we are associated. — 
We think and feel and act, not as individuals 
on our individual responsibility, but as parts 
and members of incorporated bodies, and we 
are ready to go forward and engage in courses 
of conduct to promote the purposes of a party 
a sect or an association, upon which, in our 
individual responsibility, we should never have 
presumed to venture. Nor is this all. We 
forget that these organizations are, at best and 
when successful in their operations, only means, 
merely expedients for accomplishing desirable 
objects, and that others, who adopt entirely 
different means, may desire as much, and labor 
as faithfully as we can to effect the same good 
objects. In this forgetfulness, we condemn 
those who differ from us in regard to means 



76 young man's assistant. 

as opposed to us in principle. Upon the sub- 
ject of intemperance, for example, all who will 
not adopt our plans, who will not sign the very 
paper we have signed or one similar to it, are 
classed among the abettors and encouragers of 
intemperance, although intoxicating drinks may 
never have passed their lips, though their whole 
influence may have been on the side of total 
abstinence. In such a state of things, is there 
not required a good degree of independence 
of character to enable a man to go boldly yet 
calmly forward, in the path marked out by his 
judgment and his conscience, when that path 
may depart widely from, or be in direct oppo- 
sition to the courses pursued by the combined 
associations of his fellow men? Must not a 
man have well proved his own work, to be 
able, under the censure, not of one individual 
only, but of united bodies of his fellow men, 
still to have rejoicing in himself alone. 

2d. I have spoken of the necessity of true 
independence of character. I am next to no- 
tice some of the mistakes to which we are ex- 
posed in regard to it. 

And first: are not those laboring under a mis- 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 77 

take, who think, that, to be truly independent, 
they must differ from all around them, and 
that to manifest their independence, they must, 
on all occasions, oppose the opinions, express 
a contempt for the practices, and exhibit an 
utter disregard for the feelings of others. And 
are there not some such in society? Have you 
not seen them? Men who in their investiga- 
tions have sought not so much for truth as for 
arguments to authorize a rejection of, or to 
support an opposition to the opinions of others; 
men who seek not so much to be satisfied in 
their own minds, as to convince those around 
them of their independence, and who, if those 
around them should embrace a certain opinion, 
would consider that circumstance of itself as a 
sufficient reason why they should reject it; men, 
who in their conduct affect a singularity of 
manners and assume an oddity of deportment, 
lest their conformity with the usages of society, 
should be considered as servile imitation, and 
who, in their social intercourse will not hazard 
their reputation for independence, by mani- 
festing the least regard for the feelings of oth- 
ers, but who, on the contrary, will take parties 
7* . 



78 toung man's assistant. 

ular pains, in whatever company they may 
be, to express just those ideas and to express 
themselves in just that manner which is cal- 
culated to injure the feelings of that particu- 
lar company. They may be kind hearted 
and well disposed, men who would make any 
exertion and undergo any privation to render 
needed assistance or to soothe the wounded 
feelings, provided it could be done without 
endangering their reputation for independence. 
When you speak of them you say they are 
examples of an unaccountable inconsistency 
of character. But may not this inconsisten- 
cy be accounted for? May not this kindness 
be attributed to the good impulses of their 
nature, while their unfeeling harshness and 
singular oddity are to be laid to the charge 
of the false notions they have imbibed? And 
under the influence of these false notions are 
they not in danger, while laboring for true 
independence, of becoming slaves to an af- 
fected oddity. 

Again: are not those laboring under a mis- 
take, who think that they have become truly 
independent^ simply bec&ug© they kave ex- 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 79 

changed masters. For instance, there is no 
class to whom the idea of becoming entirely 
independent is so pleasing as it is to the 
young. In their eyes there is something no- 
ble and manly and well calculated to con- 
vince the world that they are no longer chil- 
dren, in throwing off the restraints of early 
life and in breaking through the prejudices of 
education. Consequently, they despise the 
admonitions of age, they set at nought the 
cautions of experience, they disregard the 
voice of wisdom, and think that, in doing 
this, they have become truly independent. — 
They would be thought to have escaped from 
the leading strings of prejudice, and to have 
begun to think and act for themselves. But 
it is not so. They have only thrown off the 
kind restraints of their fathers, that they may 
subject themselves to the galling yoke of 
their associates. What hurries them into 
wild excesses? What plunges them into the 
destructive whirlpool of dissipation? What 
leads them the rounds of giddy thoughtless- 
ness, or encourages them to venture upon 
the unsatisfying foothold of skepticism?— 



SO young man's assistant. 

What, but a servile regard to the opinions 
of their young companions, a slavish desire 
to stand well with their associates, to receive 
their caressing attentions, and to be flattered 
by them as noble and manly and truly inde- 
pendent? But my young friends, you are 
mistaken. You may perhaps, over your 
cups of dissipation, in seasons of jovial mer- 
riment and noisy revelry, at such times, you 
may, perhaps, acquire a false independence. 
You may laugh at the thought of duty. You 
may amuse each other with the stories you 
tell of the anxiety you are causing your fath- 
ers. You may sneer at the thought of tame- 
ly submitting to the whims of maternal solic- 
itude. All this you may do and, in doing it, 
may think that you are manifesting your in- 
dependence. But it is not so. On the con- 
trary, you manifest only a want of indepen- 
dence. You do all this because you dare 
not do otherwise. For, there are moments 
of solitude, when the thought of your pa- 
rents, the thought of duty and the uneasiness 
occasioned by the reproaches of conscience, 
come over fom minds with a power that can- 



INDEPENDENCE OE CHARACTER. 81 

Dot be resisted, and force from you the wish 
that you possessed courage to break away 
from your evil associates and overcome your 
bad habits. Yet you dare not, in reliance up- 
on the approbation of your own consciences, 
say to your companions, "the course of dis- 
sipation, which we are pursuing, is injurious 
to our characters, is destructive of all men- 
tal and moral energy, causes the unhappiness 
of the fathers and mothers who have watched 
over our infancy, and who are even now 
shedding the tears and pouring forth the 
prayers of parental affection and solicitude, 
and finally is entirely inconsistent with what 
conscience teaches to be duty, therefore, I 
for one, can join you no longer." You dare 
not do this, because you fear the scorn, the 
laugh, the jeering and taunting reproach of 
your associates in folly. Tell not then of 
your independence. You know not what it 
is. You have only exchanged a parent's care 
for a master's command. 

The same mistake is often made in regard 
to religious sects, and political parties. We 
have been educated it may be in the princi- 



82 young man's assistant. 

pies of a certain denomination. Those prin- 
ciples have become with us the strong and 
deep seated prejudices of education. At 
length, we feel that it is degrading to be gov- 
erned in affairs of such moment by prejudice 
alone. This is a proper and a salutary feel- 
ing. Ft should lead us to examine the grounds 
of these prejudices. But, if dissatisfied with 
them, we should not dismiss them at once 
and set ourselves loose upon the ocean of 
doubt. We should still hold fast to them, 
until by faithful examination we have discov- 
ered and are able to substitute something 
better in their place. But this, 1 fear, is not 
the course usually pursued. I fear that we 
are too apt to renounce the principles in 
which we have been educated, not because 
we have examined them and found them false, 
but because our first impressions in regard to 
them were derived as they must have been 
from early prejudice; and that we embrace 
different views, not because we have exam- 
ined them and found them true, but because 
some new prejudice has proved more pow- 
erful than the old. We think thai we man- 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 83 

ifest a great degree of true independence of 
character in our disregard of the opinions 
and our indifference to the reproaches of our 
former associates. But it is not so. We 
have only exchanged masters and have be- 
come slaves, perhaps still more abject than 
before, to the opinions of companions. We 
have not proved our own work, we still have 
our rejoicing in others and not in ourselves 
alone. 

Still further, are not those laboring under 
a mistake, who think that they are truly in- 
dependent, because they can preserve an en- 
tire indifference to the opinions of their fel- 
low men in regard to certain particulars, while 
in these very particulars they are slaves to 
some powerful habit or strong propensity of 
their own? Such men there are. Such 
men you have seen, men who! have formed 
particular habits, or indulged particular pro- 
pensities, until it became difficult for them 
to conform to rules of propriety and custom. 
Gladly would they conform to the practices 
of their fellow men, in order to secure their 
esteem, could it be secured at what they 



84 young man's assistant. 

would deem a reasonable rate. Readily do 
they, in other particulars, vary their conduct 
to conform to the customs of society. But 
in regard to their favorite indulgences, their 
besetting sins, indolence and love of self- 
gratification magnify the labor of breaking off 
their habits, and checking their propensities, 
into an insurmountable task. They hesitate 
to undertake it. Yet they are unwilling to 
acknowledge, even to their own minds, the 
real cause of their aversion to change. They 
choose to cloak their indolent self-indulgence 
under some more honorable name. They 
call it a noble independence, an entire dis- 
regard to the opinions of their fellow men. 
They desire to be called by others truly in- 
dependent. But it is not so. They are 
willing slaves to their own propensities. Such 
are some of the mistakes to which we are ex- 
posed. Others might be mentioned. But 
it is not necessary. I hasten then to speak 
of the true nature and proper foundation of 
real independence of character. 

3d. And first I remark that there are some 
things of which we cannot be entirely inde- 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 85 

pendent. We cannot be entirely independent 
of truth in regard to opinions, nor of duty in 
regard to conduct. 

In regard to opinions; we are so constituted, 
that, when a proposition is presented to the 
mind, and the evidence for and against it has 
been examined, that proposition appears to be 
either true or false. This appearance may 
correspond with reality or not. It may de- 
pend on the degree of evidence presented, or 
on the state of mind in which the proposition 
is examined. ■ But, on whatever it may de- 
pend, and whether it correspond with reality 
or not, it commands either our assent or our 
dissent. And the decision we make, is entire- 
ly above and beyond the control of the will. 
We must, whether we will or not, believe 
that two and two make four. We cannot, 
how much soever we may desire it, convince 
ourselves that two and two make five. In 
such a case it is in vain to talk of being inde- 
pendent of these decisions of the mind. They 
are formed in accordance with the laws of our na- 
ture, and as long as our natures remain the same, 
we must submit to them and abide by them. 
8 



86 young man's ASSISTANT. 

It is in some degree the same with prop- . 
ositions which depend on probable evidence. 
We may, for example, be called upon to act 
as jurors in a criminal prosecution. The ac- 
cused may be our friend. We may wish to 
see him acquitted. We may resolve that we 
will be independent of the convictions of our 
mind, that we will stand firm in his favor. — 
These, our wishes and our resolves, will in- 
deed have an effect on our minds. They will 
operate to magnify the circumstances that are 
favorable to the accused and to diminish the 
force of the evidence against him. Still, if 
on trial the evidence be such that we cannot 
resist the conviction of his guilt, it is in vain 
to talk of our independence. We may indeed 
act as we please, we may prove reckless to 
truth and to duty. We may acquit or con- 
demn. There is a possibility in these things. 
But that we should be entirely independent 
of the convictions forced upon the mind by the 
evidence presented, is an impossibility. We 
cannot, even if we act in this way, make 
the course appear right. It is the same with 
regard to a proposition in morals or a doctrine 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 87 

of religion. I may sincerely wish to believe 
that a certain doctrine is true. I may think 
that it would promote my temporal and eter- 
nal happiness to embrace it with a living faith. 
Still, as long as that doctrine appears to the 
eye of my reason false, I cannot embrace it. 
My wishes and hopes and fears may greatly 
affect my mind in regard to the reception of 
evidence, but they cannot render it independent 
of the convictions of truth. I do not say that 
our convictions will always be in accordance 
with truth. But I do say that they will al- 
ways be in accordance with what appears to 
the mind to be truth. And I do say, still fur- 
ther, that, as long as these convictions are 
forced upon the mind by the evidence pre- 
sented, we must abide by them. I may have 
embraced what appears to youtobe^a soul-de- 
stroying error. Yet, as long as it appears to 
my mind to be truth, so long I must adhere to 
it. Do you wish to convince me that my 
opinions are erroneous? Your duty is plain, 
not to threaten and intimidate, but simply to 
increase my knowledge andlto strengthen the 
evidence, or to change my feelings so that I 



88 young man's assistant. 

may look upon the same evidence through a 
different medium. For let us ever remember 
that in regard to opinions, upon subjects where 
we examine, we cannot be independent of 
truth or of what appears to the mind to be 
truth. 

Again: in regard to conduct; we cannot be 
entirely independent of duty. For duty is 
imposed upon us by obligations arising from 
the natures given to us and the relations which 
we sustain, and consequently, unless we can 
rid ourselves of these natures and these rela- 
tions, we cannot escape the obligations of du- 
ty. Let me illustrate. You are a son, and 
as such, you sustain a certain relation to your 
parents. From that relation results the ob- 
ligation to perform towards them certain duties. 
Those duties will derive their peculiar charac- 
ter from the nature you have received at the 
hands of God; from the circumstance that you 
have been created an intellectual and moral be- 
ing. As long then as this nature and this re- 
lation remain the same, as long as you retain 
the exercise of your mental powers, moral 
impulses and social affections, and continue to 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 89 

sustain the relation of a son, so long it is in 
vain to talk of being independent of the du- 
ties which devolve upon you as a son. Noth- 
ing but your loss of the power to perform these 
duties, or the death of your parents, can re- 
lease you from your obligations. You may 
perhaps come out boldly and say that mankind 
have been in a mistake upon the subject, that 
their notions are all mere whims, and that you 
will shew yourselves independent by paying 
no regard to them. You may say that no 
other affection is to be cherished, and no other 
duties to be performed towards your parents, 
than towards the veriest stranger you meet.— 
In this way you may talk. In this way you 
may attempt to act. But you will not suc- 
ceed. You cannot carry your principles into 
.practice. There will be a voice from within, 
soft indeed as the gentlest whisper, but all pow- 
erful to restrain you. There will be a voice 
from without, breaking forth from all around 
you like the roar of mighty waters, with a force 
that cannot be resisted. There will be a soul- 
penetrating and an awe-striking voice, though 
it be a voice of love from that Being whose eye 

8* 



90 young man's assistant. 

is ever upon you, a voice that will teach yoti 
that it is in vain to think of being independent 
of your duty. I have illustrated the princi- 
ple. But permit me to dwell on this impor- 
tant point a moment longer. For it is on this 
point that our young men are most in danger. 
They think of being independent of truth and 
duty. There is something in our political in- 
stitutions, there is something in the religious 
liberty we enjoy, the liberty to be any thing or 
nothing in regard to religion, the liberty to 
follow with superstitious reverence some wild 
fanatic, or to embrace with equal servile ac- 
quiescence, the monstrous doctrines of mod- 
ern infidelity, there is something in the long 
continued and often reiterated praises of liberty 
and independence, which are heard in all our 
political caucuses, and at our public celebra- 
tions, and which are seen in all our periodical 
publications — there is something I say in all 
this, calculated not only to interest but to mis- 
lead the young. They are excited upon the 
subject. They delight to talk of the spirit of 
free enquiry that is abroad, of the spirit of 
fearless independence which is manifested in 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 91 

breaking time-hallowed prejudices, in throw- 
ing off soul-goading chains that have been rust- 
ing from all antiquity. They wish to stand 
forth as examples of this spirit of free enquiry 
and fearless independence. And they think 
to carry their "free enquiry and fearless inde- 
pendence" to an utter disregard of all truth and 
duty. 

And then too, the youth goes forth from the 
parental roof at the most dangerous period of 
life. He becomes the member of some col- 
legiate institution, enters the counting room of 
the merchant, or is placed as an apprentice 
with some mechanic. These different situa- 
tions in some degree resemble each other in 
regard to the circumstances which render them 
scenes of danger to the young. In them all, 
they are, during most of the day, confined. — 
And in them all, there are seasons of leisure. 
These seasons of leisure they will not spend 
in idleness. For they are full of life and ac- 
tivity. Nor will they spend them in solitude. 
For they are at the age when the heart is most 
tender and susceptible. They will spend them 
in each other's society, and in so doing they 



92 young man's assistant. 

become strongly attached to each other. They 
often assemble, and when together, the ride 
is proposed, the supper is resorted to. In this 
way they go on, hand in hand, from one step 
to another, until, before they are aware of it, 
they are far advanced on the downward road 
of dissipation. But here it may be that the 
thought of home, of parents, of brothers and 
sisters, once the objects of heartfelt affection, 
excites uneasiness. The reproaches of con- 
science and the pangs of remorse produce un- 
happiness. Some one less hardy than his as- 
sociates begins to falter in his course. He is 
rallied by his companions, he is reminded in 
scornful reproach of his mother's apron strings 
to which he is tied, and of his father's rod, 
or his frown, which he fears. He is told what 
a mere child he makes himself, and what a 
man he is capable of becoming and ought to 
become. Or it may be that he is laughed at 
as one in danger of becoming pious, is saluted 
with the mock title of priest, is asked to hold 
forth, is ridiculed as a poor faint-hearted timid 
youth, that is afraid to do w r rong, afraid of a 
hell and a devil. In this way the feelings of 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 93 

the youth become excited. He becomes 
ashamed of the better impulses of his nature, 
ashamed to acknowledge that he is troubled by 
a sense of duty, by a regard to conscience, by 
the thought of parents and friends. He is 
afraid to break away from his dangerous asso- 
ciates. He adopts their principles, and begins 
to think it manly to set at defiance the dictates 
of conscience and the obligations of duty. — 
He gives up all regard to right and wrong, 
plunges headlong into further dissipation, in 
order to stifle present uneasiness, till at last he 
is ruined. I am not indulging a disordered im- 
agination. I do not present you with a pic- 
ture which has no corresponding reality. Let 
those who have been ruined by dissipation 
speak, and many of them will tell you that the 
first object of the vicious associates among 
whom they fell, was to break down all regard 
for a father's wish or a mother's affection — to 
laugh out of existence all sense of duty, to 
excite such feelings of independence, as should 
free them from all qualms of conscience. Can 
you think it strange then, that I wish to press 
the idea, that we cannot be independent of 



94 young man's assistant. 

duty, and especially to enforce this truth upon 
the young. To the youth, and to every one 
I would say, you. are the children of Almighty 
God, created, supported and blessed by his 
goodness. Here then is a relation which you 
sustain towards the Being who gave you life 
and continues you in existence. From this 
relation results the obligation to perform cer- 
tain duties, the duties for example of honor- 
ing your heavenly father, by endeavoring to 
promote the intellectual and moral improve- 
ment, and the highest possible happiness of his 
rational offspring, and by manifesting in all 
things a regard to his will. Can you be inde- 
pendent of the duties which result from this 
relation? Will you, when a course of con- 
duct is proposed, concerning which, the ques- 
tion arises in your mind, whether it be right, 
whether it be in accordance with the will of 
God and well pleasing in his sight, at such a 
moment will you say, I am determined to fol- 
low my own propensities and inclinations? . I 
care not whether the course be right or wrong, 
I care not for the will of God, I will shew my 
manly independence by manifesting an utter 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 95 

disregard for any such whimsical superstition! 
Stop, my friend, — stop! Tell me, are you 
willing to renounce the relation from which that 
obligation results? Are you ready to say, that 
from this moment you wish for no further sup- 
port, no further blessing from your God? Shall 
the Almighty take you at your word and in- 
stantly withdraw his supporting hand, and 
turn 1 away his life-giving countenance from you? 
The very thought is startling. Say not then 
that you will slight these obligations, that you 
will neglect these duties, that you will be inde- 
pendent; for there is no such independence in 
nature. 

Again, I would say to every individual, you 
are created intellectual and moral beings, you 
are blessed with reason and conscience. This 
is the high privilege of your natures. From 
this privilege results the obligation to perform 
in regard to yourselves, certain duties; the du- 
ties for example, of cultivating and improving 
the powers bestowed upon you, and of keep- 
ing yourselves unspotted from moral pollution; 
the duty, to speak in more general terms, of 
regulating your conduct at all times and under 



96 young man's assistant. 

all circumstances in accordance with the voice 
of reason and the dictates of conscience. — 
From these obligations you cannot escape; of 
these duties you may not be independent. — 
For surely you will not give yourselves up to 
animal and sensual indulgences. You will not 
cherish the low and grovelling propensities of 
your nature, and tamely surrender yourselves 
slaves to the appetites of the flesh, and then 
pretend to justify yourselves by calling this 
true independence of character ! You will 
not pretend that the idea of a conscience is a 
popular superstition! that you are about to 
shew yourselves above such narrow-minded 
prejudices! You cannot do this, for the gnaw- 
ings of inward anguish of spirit will convince 
you by sad experience, that the remorse of 
the guilty soul is not a mere priest-created 
bug-bear to frighten the timid. But it may be 
that you are unwilling to exert yourselves in 
the improvement of your powers; that you 
care not to exercise the self-command, and 
self-discipline, and self-cultivation which reason 
and conscience require. But are you willing 
to give up the high privilege of reason and 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 97 

conscience, that you may indulge your an- 
imal propensities, to sell your birthright for a 
mess of pottage? Are you ready to go forth 
from among your fellow men, to step down 
from your elevated rank, and take your place 
by the side of the beasts of the field, and be- 
come like one of them? Presume not then to 
expect to escape with impunity, if, while you 
possess reason and conscience, you disregard 
their dictates, and by animal indulgences bru- 
"tify and degrade your souls. Tell me not 
that this is manly independence, a noble dis- 
regard of the fears and whims of bigotry and 
superstition; tell me not of an independence 
which frees you from your duty to yourselves, 
for reason allows of no such independence. 

Still further, T would say to every individual; 
you are blessed with social natures, and you 
sustain widely extended and variously compli- 
cated social relations. You are parents or 
children, brothers or sisters, husbands or wives. 
You live among the poor and among the rich, 
among the ignorant as well as the learned, 
among the vicious as well as among the vir- 
tuous. You live among men of different re- 
9 



98 young man's assistant. 

ligious and political principles. All these re- 
lations among men give rise to corresponding 
reciprocal duties. These duties are often very 
complicated and delicate in their "nature, and 
very difficult in performance. And here, as 
every where else, we cannot be independent of 
the duties imposed by the peculiar relations 
we sustain, and the particular circumstances in 
which we are placed. 

But here,perhaps,you are ready to ask if in- 
dependence of character be not after all a 
mere name: are ready to exclaim, if we can- 
not be independent of truth and of duty, what 
is there left of which we may be independent? 
I answer that we may and that we ought to 
be independent of every thing that would hin- 
der our discovery of truth, or lead us astray 
from the path of duty. And surely there are 
sources of danger. Let us notice some of 
them. 

We may be prevented from discovering 
truth, or turned aside from the path of duty, by 
the undue influence of those who differ from 
us in practice, or are opposed to us in opinion. 
The danger here is not that we shall be led to 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 99 

embrace their opinions or adopt their practices. 
It is that under the influence of our prejudi- 
ces against them we shall be unfitted for im- 
partial examination, and shall be driven to the 
opposite extreme. For example, we may 
have become warmly attached to some reli- 
gious or political party, and strongly prejudiced 
against all that is opposed to us in religion or 
politics. Every opinion, which those opposed 
to us may embrace, is from that very circum- 
stance, considered as strongly tinctured with 
error, and we think ourselves perfectly safe, 
perfectly sure of the truth, if, even without 
examination, we reject that opinion and go to 
the opposite extreme. Is a book put into 
our hands written by a member of an oppo- 
site party? We may read the book, but we 
are in danger of doing it with the veil of pre- 
judice upon our minds. We shall read with 
the strong expectation of rinding much that is 
objectionable. This expectation may be nat- 
ural, but we should guard against its undue in- 
fiuence, lest we see faults where otherwise we 
should not have discovered them. For we 
all know that a book is read with far different 



100 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

feelings, and a far different judgment is passed 
upon its contents, when the author and espe- 
cially the party to which he belonged, are un- 
known, from what would have been the case 
had it been known that he was a member of 
an opposite party. The same words and sen- 
tences and paragraphs, which, while the au- 
thor is unknown, are thought to be filled with 
patriotism or piety, change their appearance 
at once upon the mention of his name, and 
become treasonable or heretical. In this way 
we are unfitted by our prejudices for impartial 
examination. And the same is the case in re- 
gard to conduct. If those who are opposed 
to us in religion or politics, contend strenuously 
for or against any course of conduct, we are 
inclined to contend strenuously for or against 
the opposite course. You perceive therefore, 
that we are in danger of being prevented from 
discovering truth or turned aside from the 
path of duty, by the undue influence of our 
prejudices against those who differ from, and 
are opposed to us. This undue influence the 
truly independent man will carefully guard 
against. He will seek for truth with a mind 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 101 

unbiassed by prejudice, and will embrace it 
wherever he may find it. He will follow du- 
ty wherever it may lead him, whether in com- 
pany with the members of his own or with 
those of an opposite party. 

Again, there is an undue influence arising 
from the party with which we are connected 
and the friends with whom we associate. We 
connect ourselves with certain religious and 
political parties, because in most important par- 
ticulars we agree with them in opinion. Still 
in many things we have our individual prefer- 
ences. And it is our intention not to sacrifice 
individual freedom of thought upon the altar 
of party union. Yet such is the impercepti- 
ble influence of party sympathy, that before 
we are aware of it we find ourselves approving, 
simply because the party approves. It may 
be that the party with which we are connec- 
ted, have followed out their original principles 
to dangerous conclusions, or have changed 
their position and embraced new views, views 
too in which we cannot coincide with them. — 
Or it may be that in their practices they have 
departed from what we believe to be a correct 
9* 



102 young man's assistant. 

course of conduct. At first our feelings prompt 
us to speak out, to separate ourselves from our 
party, to act in individual independence. But 
we are checked by our unwillingness to for- 
feit the approbation of our associates. Nor 
can we examine and judge, in order to deter- 
mine upon the course which it is proper for 
us to pursue, without an undue bias in favor of 
the principles and practices of our party, with- 
out at least a wish and a strong wish too, to 
find all things fair and proper. Here too you 
perceive we are in danger of being led astray 
from truth and diverted from the path of duty. 
Against this undue influence the truly inde- 
pendent man will ever carefully guard. He 
will seek for truth and he will follow duty even 
though they should lead him into courses wide- 
ly diverging from those pursued by his party. 
But, still further, there is an undue influ- 
ence arising from ourselves, which is calcula- 
ted to draw us aside from truth and from duty. 
And this, it appears to me, is the greatest 
source of danger. We are not so liable to 
become slaves to others as we are to ourselves, 
to our own propensities and habits and feel- 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 103 

ings and opinions. There is a fear of being 
called inconsistent, a desire of being thought 
sound in judgment, an unwillingness to acknowl- 
edge that w T e have been in error, which ope- 
rates unfavorably upon all our investigations. 
We may have formed our opinions in haste, 
after an imperfect and partial examination, 
without having considered all their bearings, 
or traced out all their consequences. But, 
when greater light breaks in upon our minds 
and stronger evidence is set before us, it is 
with reluctance that we admit the light and 
yield to the evidence. It is the same in re- 
gard to conduct. We are strongly inclined to 
look favorably upon the practices to which we 
are addicted, the habits which we have formed 
and the propensities which we have indulged 
simply because they are our own. We con- 
tinue in them, partly it may be, because it is 
difficult to break them off and to exercise self- 
government, but more especially, because it is 
wounding to our pride and self-love to ac- 
knowledge, by a change in conduct, that we 
have been yielding to improper indulgences. 
We should then strive to be independent of 



104 YOUMG aiAN S 5 ASSISTANT. 

ourselves, of our propensities, our prejudices 
and our habits; and not suffer them to lead 
us astray from truth and from duty. 

Here then I draw my conclusions. Here 
I answer the question "what is the true na- 
ture and proper foundation of real indepen- 
dence of character." And my answer is this. 
The true nature of independence of character 
is a sacred, an inviolable and a conscientious 
regard to truth and duty. Its proper founda- 
tion is in deeply seated, firmly fixed and all 
pervading principle. Yea, I may not refrain 
from adding, in deeply seated, firmly fixed and 
all pervading christian principle. For as a 
herald of the christian religion, and address- 
ing as I am the members of a christian com- 
munity, I may not refrain from reminding you, 
that, in the enjoyment of gospel light, and 
gospel ordinances, you are favored with the 
highest privilege which man can enjoy. And a 
privilege too, which gives rise to duties that 
extend through all the relations of life, and 
furnish employment for the highest capacities 
of the soul. With the Bible in our hands, 
with the christian religion as our guide, we are 



INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER. 105 

placed in a new relation. Our duties become 
christian duties, based upon and supported by 
christian principle. And as we may not be 
independent of the duties which arise from 
any relation we sustain, so, with the Bible in 
our hand, we may not be independent of chris- 
tian principle. There is no sure and stable 
foundation for true independence of character 
but this. All else is uncertain and will prove 
decent ve. But here we are guided by a su- 
preme regard to-, the will of God as the stand- 
ard of duty, which is ever fixed and unchange- 
able. Would you then, my young friends, 
have before you a very plain and simple duty? 
It is this. Make yourselves practically ac- 
quainted with the principles of the christian 
religion. Under the influence of these prin- 
ciples, go resolutely forward in the search of 
all truth and in the practice of all duty, and 
you will, even before you are aware of it, have 
become truly independent. You will not ask 
whether you are independent or not, for you 
will be independent even of the desire to be 
thought independent. You will not think of 
this. You will become so engrossed by your 



106 young man's assistant. 

desire to discover truth and to practice duty, 
that you will be freed from a servile regard 
to the* opinions and practices of others, or 
a slavish subserviency to your own prejudi- 
ces, habits and propensities. You will man- 
ifest no harsh rudeness, no disregard of, or 
contempt for the opinions, practices and 
feelings of others. Nor yet will your angry 
feelings rise when assailed by reproach. You 
will only examine more carefully into your 
past conduct and opinions to see if there 
have been ground for reproach, and will en- 
deavor to become more active, more cau- 
tious and more zealous in your future exer- 
tions. You will be led to sincere and ear- 
nest endeavors by the light of reason and of 
revelation to prove your own work each man 
for himself, that so you may have your re- 
joicing not in others but in yourselves alone..- 



LETTER IV. 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 



Introduction — consistency of character defined and il- 
lustrated — It is consistency in purpose, intentions 
and motives,, and may often require changes in opin- 
ion, change* in practice and changes in the denomina- 
tional or party relations, which we may have sustained. 
He who boasts that he never changes his opinions, or 
alters his conduct, must be a man of small mind and 
of contracted views, and, if he practice according to 
his boast, his mind will ever remain small and his 
views contracted — Practical principles — 1st. We 
should cherish an enquiring activity of mind in regard 
to the various subjects, which may be presented for 
consideration. 2d. We should ever act openly, 
frankly and fully, according to our convictions at the 
time. 3d. We should ever keep our minds open to 
conviction. 4th. We should ever be ready to admit 
to our own minds and to acknowledge to others, that 
we have been in error — Two courses may be pursued 
upon this subject; we may seek to appear consistent 
to our fellow men, or to be so, in view of our con- 
science and our God — The former course a source of 
perplexity, the latter the source of inward peace and 
happiness. 



108 young man's assistant. 

My Young Friends, 

There is, I believe, in all, by nature a 
love of consistency of character, a desire to 
be thought consistent in all they do. To be 
inconsistent is held, by many, to be a dis- 
grace. If an individual has changed his 
opinions, or altered his course of conduct, 
he is held up to the scorn of the community, 
as one who has been inconsistent with him- 
self. And the individual, feeling that this 
change may subject him to reproach or to 
ridicule, will take great pains to prove that 
he has not been guilty of inconsistency. — 
Then too there are others, who have estab- 
lished a character for consistency, and have 
become so filled with the pride of consisten- 
cy of character, that they will obstinately ad- 
here to whatever opinions they may once 
have adopted and expressed, not because 
they still appear true, but because they have 
once adopted and expressed them; they will 
obstinately continue on in the pursuit of a 
particular course of conduct, not because 
they believe it to be right, but because they 
have once entered upon it and are now un- 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 109 

willing, by a change, to appear to be incon- 
sistent. This obstinate adherence to opin- 
ions once adopted, and to courses of conduct 
once commenced, simply because they have 
been adopted and commenced, is a gross per- 
version of true consistency of character, or 
rather an entire mistake of its true nature. — 
Since such mistakes are actually made, I 
have felt myself called upon to invite your 
attention particularly to the consideration of 
this subject. I wish to point out the proper 
foundation and the true nature of consistency 
of character, that so I may guard you, if 
possible, against the mistakes in regard to it, 
to which you are most exposed. 

And first, the proper foundation of true 
consistency, as of true independence of 
character, is laid in an entire and unreserved 
devotion to truth and to duty; to truth in re- 
gard to opinions, and to duty in regard to 
conduct. In our devotion to these we may 
be consistent. But there is no true consis- 
tency of character in an obstinate adherence 
to particular opinions, or to particular courses 
of conduct. For example, you may be filled 
10 



110 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

with a sincere love of the truth. You may 9 
under the influence of this love of truth, 
have carefully examined all the evidence, up- 
on any particular subject, which may be with- 
in your reach, and you may have drawn your 
conclusions, and formed your judgments, ac- 
cording to the best of your ability. In this 
w r ay you may have adopted certain opinions 
upon religious, moral, political and other 
subjects. But why have you adopted these 
opinions? Is it not because they appear to 
your minds to embrace and to express the 
truth? Suppose, then, that new light, upon 
these subjects be presented to your mind, 
that additional evidence, and evidence of a 
different character from any which you have 
examined, be discovered; that new arguments 
and considerations, opposed to your conclu- 
sions, arguments and considerations before 
unthought of by you, be suggested? What, 
under such circumstances, does consistency 
of character require? Will you close your 
eyes to this light? Will you banish from 
your mind all thoughts of this new evidence, 
these new arguments and considerations? — 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. Ill 

And will you call this a consistent course of 
conduct? If so, you are mistaken. For 
your consistency must be a consistency of 
feeling and of purpose, and not a uniformity 
in results and appearances. You comme iced 
under the influence of a sincere love of 
the truth. As long as this love of the truth 
is. your governing feeling, you will hold your- 
self open to conviction. You will hold your- 
self ready to examine, carefully and impar- 
tially, any new evidence, any new arguments 
or considerations, and to yield to any new 
light, which may shine in upon your minds. 
If you do not hold yourselves thus ready to 
examine and to yield to evidence, you are 
not consistent with yourselves. You have 
acted, for a time, under the influence of a 
love of the truth. You are now acting un- 
der the influence of other and entirely dif- 
ferent feelings. But suppose, still further, 
that, upon examination, you are convinced 
that your former opinions were erroneous, 
and that the courses of conduct, you have 
been pursuing under the influence of those 
erroneous opinions, were wrong. What does 



112 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

consistency of character now require of you? 
Does it not require that you should change 
your opinions and alter your conduct? Most 
surely it does. If you do thus change and 
alter, you will be consistent with yourselves. 
You will be acting in obedience to the same 
principles and motives which influenced you 
at the commencement of your course. 

Again, you commence your course under 
the influence of an unreserved devotion to 
duty in all your conduct. It is your desire 
to know, and your endeavor to do right in all 
things. In this you are strictly conscientious. 
But, in regard to your knowledge of what is 
right, you are influenced, as indeed all are, 
by the general condition and prevalent opin- 
ions of society around you. You engage in 
practices which are sanctioned by the voice 
and the example of the community. They 
are thought right by the community and you 
think them right, and therefore you engage in 
them. That my illustrations maybe the more 
palpable and distinct, I will take a particular 
case. Suppose, then, that you have engaged 
in the traffic in ardent spirits. You are in- 



Consistency of character. US 

fluenced by the desire to know and to do 
your duty. And you have engaged in this 
traffic because you honestly believe that it 
was not inconsistent with duty that it was 
right. But, as the attention of the commu- 
nity has been turned to this subject, as the 
consequences of this traffic have been ob- 
served, and as the* arguments, by which it 
is justified, have been examined, many in this 
community have become convinced that this 
traffic is wrong, and ought not to be continu- 
ed. And the men, who have been led to this 
conclusion, are, many of them, men of pure 
principles and of sound judgment, in regard 
to other subjects. Under such circumstan- 
ces, what course does consistency of char- 
acter require you to pursue? Will you shut 
your eyes to all light and close your ears to 
all argument upon the subject? And will 
you call this consistency, because you adhere 
to the same employment? Most surely you 
are mistaken. You commenced with a con- 
scientious devotion to duty. This devotion 
to duty implies an earnest desire to know 
^ hat is right, as well as a resolute determina* 



114 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

tion to do what is right. The desire to 
know what is right implies a readiness to ex- 
amine new arguments, to investigate new 
views, and to weigh new considerations. — 
Unless you pause, then, and examine the 
views and arguments of those, who consider 
the traffic in ardent spirits as wrong, you 
cannot claim for yourself consistency of 
character. But suppose you do examine, 
and that the result of your examination is 
that you are convinced of the impropriety of 
the traffic, or, at least, are led to doubt in 
regard to its propriety. What is now the 
course which consistency requires of you? — 
Will you adhere to the traffic, against your 
convictions, or in utter disregard of your 
doubts, and call this consistency, because you 
do not change your course of conduct? If 
so you are mistaken, utterly mistaken in your 
views of the nature of true consistency of 
character. Your business, your appearance 
to the community, is indeed the same. But 
is it the same to yourself, to your own con- 
science? Are your feelings and motives 
the same? Is your conduct consistent with 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 115 

the purposes and intentions by which you 
were actuated at first? Mosi certainly not. 
You commenced with a conscientious devo- 
tion to duty, an earnest desire to know and 
to pursue the right. You engaged in this 
particular traffic because you believed it to be 
right. But now you continue on in your 
traffic, under the conviction that it is wrong, 
or, at least, while*' doubting whether it be 
right. Oh, how changed have you become, 
how inconsistent in your conduct with the 
feelings and intentions, with which you com- 
menced your course. How would you then 
have started back-, at the thought, that you 
should ever do what you might believe to be 
wrong, or that you should ever pursue a 
course of conduct, in regard to the propriety 
and correctness of which you might have 
strong and serious doubts. 

Still further, you have connected yourself 
with some religious denomination or with 
some political party. Why have you done 
this? Has it not been, because, after the 
best examination you have been able to give 
to the subject and in the exercise of your 



116 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

soundest judgment, you believe that the doc- 
trines embraced by this denomination, or 
the principles adopted by this party, are true 
and correct. But, suppose that, upon fur- 
ther thought and reading, you are led to doubt 
the correctness of these doctrines and prin- 
ciples. What does consistency require of 
you? Will you obstinately suppress all 
doubts, and avoid all examination, and adhere 
to your opinions and principles? And in 
doing this are you not inconsistent with your- 
self? Are you not departing from the reasons, 
which influenced you at first? Most certain- 
ly you are. But suppose you weigh these 
doubts and examine the points to which they 
relate, and are convinced, by the process, 
that the doctrines are not true, that the prin- 
ciples are not correct. "Will you retain your 
connection with this denomination or party, 
concealing your change, or contending that 
you have not in reality changed, that you 
have only adopted a new mode of explaining 
the philosophy of these doctrines and prin- 
ciples? And is this, I ask, consistent? Did 
you not embrace them because you honestly 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 117 

and sincerely believed them to be true and 
correct in a sense entirely different from that 
in which you now hold them? Does not 
consistency of character require, then, that 
you should frankly and honestly admit to your 
own mind, and acknowledge to others, that 
you have changed? Does not consistency 
require, that you should leave the denomina- 
tion or party, and no longer uphold, by your 
countenance and support, doctrines and prin- 
ciples in the truth and correctness of which 
you do not now believe. 

I have thus given illustrations of the na- 
ture of consistency of character. And from 
these illustrations, I would draw the follow- 
ing conclusions: That consistency of char- 
acter does not consist in an obstinate adhe- 
rence to the same principles, the same opin- 
ions, the same courses of conduct, or the 
same denominational and party relations. — 
But that it does consist in a persevering ad- 
herence to the same purposes and intentions 
and motives. In other words, it consists in 
an unswerving devotion to truth in regard to 
opinions, and to duty in regard to conduct. 



118 young* man's assistant. 

You may set forth in life as a young man, 
with a fixed determination that you will al- 
ways embrace those opinions which appear 
to your mind to be true. This determina- 
tion implies that you will carefully examine 
the opinions, which you do embrace, and 
that you will impartially weigh and consider 
all new views and new arguments and new 
considerations, which may claim your notice, 
and which may seem to be in opposition to 
your views, that you will not dismiss, at once 
any doubts which may arise, but will, under 
their influence, re-examine the grounds of 
your belief, and the reasons which have induc- 
ed you to embrace the opinions which you hold. 
On this point then you may be consistent by 
adhering to this fixed determination to the 
same purpose and intention. But it may 
be, that the opinions, which you em- 
brace now, will hereafter appear to you un- 
sound and untrue. Adherence then to your 
intentions and purposes will require that you 
should renounce them and embrace those 
which do appear to you to be sound and 
true. I might perhaps state to you my pres- 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 119 

ent opinions upon various subjects. But I 
cannot pledge myself that my opinions, one 
year from this time, shall be the same. I 
cannot in consistency, do this. I know not, 
but that my adherence to my motives and in- 
tentions, but that an unwavering devotion to 
truth, may compel me to penounce them. — 
My consistency of character consists not in 
obstinately adhering to the same opinions, 
but in ever adopting those, which, after care- 
ful examination, appear to me to be true. — 
It may be that the courses of conduct, which 
you are now pursuing, will hereafter appear 
to you to be wrong. Adherence then to your 
purposes and intentions, an unwavering de- 
votion to duty, will require that you should 
alter your conduct. Your consistency of 
character must be manifested, not by an ob- 
stinate adherence to courses once commen- 
ced, but in ever pursuing those which you 
honestly and sincerely believe at the time to 
be duties. 

True consistency of character then, con- 
sists in an unwavering devotion to truth and 
to duty in a persevering adherence to the 



120 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

same purposes and intentions. It may not 
only admit of a change in opinions and an 
alteration of courses of conduct; it often 
may and often does require this change and 
alteration. Indeed, I do not believe it pos- 
sible, for a man to maintain consistency of 
character and make improvement, without 
changing from time to time his opinions and 
altering his conduct. I know, indeed, that 
there are those, who will say, and will say it in 
a boast, that when they once form their opin- 
ions upon any subject, they never change; 
that when they have once adopted certain 
principles or entered upon a certain course 
of conduct, they never alter. But such an 
assertion, let it come from whom it may, 
denotes a small mind and exceedingly con- 
tracted views. And what is more, such an 
assertion, if adhered to, is a seal of perpet- 
ual ignorance, a bar to all further improve- 
ment. For what does such an assertion im- 
ply? Does it not imply that the individual 
supposes himself to be always and infallibly 
correct in his first conclusions? For if not, 
why should he be averse to change his opin- 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 121 

ions and to adopt more correct conclusions? 
Does it not imply a feeling of self-confidence, 
which overlooks even the liability to error? 
For how can one, who feels that he is con- 
stantly liable to error, and especially liable to 
it in his first impressions and conclusions, say 
that he never changed an opinion once adop- 
ted? The assertion then, implies that an in- 
dividual, who makes it, regards himself as 
infallibly correct in his first conclusions; a 
supposition which none, but a man of small 
mind and of contracted views, could ever 
make. Or, if the assertion does not imply 
this, it implies something still more deroga- 
tory to the character, and that is, an utter in- 
difference as to the truth or correctness of 
opinions, which may be embraced, or the 
courses which may be adopted. No one, 
who feels his liability to error, and who 
seeks for truth, and desires to pursue the 
path of duty, can cherish feelings which 
would prompt the assertion that he never 
changes opinions or alters conduct. The 
assertion, of which I am speaking, if adhered 
to, will be an affectual bar to all improvement 

11 



122 YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

It is in vain for any one to say that he nev- 
er draws conclusions until the whole subject 
has been examined. This cannot be. The 
subject is presented to the mind and we are 
called to act. Act we must, and from pres- 
ent appearances too, from the evidence pre- 
sented at the time we must draw the conclu- 
sions, under which we act. And yet, it may 
be, that in a short time new evidence will be 
presented, and evidence which entirely chan- 
ges the whole aspect of the case. You can- 
not expect then, to be perfect in the knowl- 
edge of the various subjects, in regard to 
which, you must, as you pass along, and 
without pausing for a full examination, form 
your opinions and shape your conduct. The 
only reasonable course then is to form your 
opinions and shape your conduct according 
to the extent of your knowledge, and the 
best of your judgment upon the evidence 
presented at the time, and then to hold your- 
selves ready to examine new evidence, to 
yield to new convictions, and, in obedience 
to these new convictions, to change opinions 
and alter conduct. That an adherence to 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 123 

this assertion will prove to be a bar to all im- 
provement, will appear from a single consid- 
eration. Suppose that a child, at the age of 
twelve years, should form the resolution that 
he will never change an opinion which he 
may then hold, upon any subject whatever. 
What, I ask, would be his improvement, 
should he adhere to that resolution. He 
might, indeed, form new opinions upon other 
subjects. But upon the subjects, upon which 
he had already formed opinions, would he not 
be prevented from improvement? And would 
not the general result of such a resolution be, 
to prevent all mental development, all intellec- 
tual progress? The individual might advance 
in years and increase in statue, but would he 
not exhibit the unpleasant appearance of a man, 
in age, stature and appearance, while a mere 
boy in knowledge and mental capacity ? Such 
would undoubtedly be the influence of a reso- 
lution, like the one I have supposed, formed at 
the age of twelve years, and ever after adhered 
to. But suppose the resolution be formed 
at the age of twenty, would not the influ- 
ence be the same in character, although it 



124 

might be diminished in degree. Suppose it 
be formed at the age of forty, or of fifty 
even, and still, I ask, would not the influ- 
ence be the same in character? Would not 
the resolution serve to prevent all further im- 
provement. Indeed, is there any age at 
which you fix the limit of improvement. To 
me it seems not. You perceive, therefore, 
that the assertion which I have noticed, and 
which is sometimes boastingly made, indi- 
cates that he who makes it is a man of a small 
mind and of exceedingly contracted views, 
and you perceive too, that if adhered to, it 
will tend to prevent the enlargement of his 
mind, or the expansion of his views. I have 
said more, in regard to this than I otherwise 
should have done, because I know that those, 
who boastingly make the assertion, regard it 
as a mark of superiority, as somewhat credit- 
able to their intellect, and especially as es- 
tablishing, at once, a reputation for consis- 
tency of character. And, I know too, that 
such an assertion, boastingly made as it often 
is, finds favor in the minds of the young, and 
they begin to look with pity and contempt 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 125 

upon him, who acknowledges his liability to 
error, and confesses his willingness to change, 
both his opinions and his conduct, upon his 
conviction of the error of the one or of the 
impropriety of the other. I would have all 
such, both those who make the boast and 
those who regard it with favor, I would have 
all such, consider that the assertion itself in- 
dicates a small mind, and exceedingly con- 
tracted views, and that if any one pursues a 
course of conduct in accordance with such 
an assertion, his mind, his intellectual power 
and capacity will ever remain small and his 
views will ever continue contracted. 

But what, you will ask, is the practical 
conclusion to be drawn from these general 
remarks, what the particular practical princi- 
ples for which they lay the foundation? They 
are these. In the first place when a subject 
is presented for your consideration, improve 
faithfully the means and opportunities, which 
may be within your reach, for becoming ac- 
quainted with that subject. Cherish the feel- 
ing, that it is a matter of importance that 
you should understand the subject, that you 

11* 



126 



should form correct opinions in regard to it? 
and that you should be able to give a reason 
for your opinions, should be able to tell why 
you believe as you profess to believe. Is it a 
subject, in regard to which you will soon be 
called upon to act? Improve faithfully the time 
before you act in examining evidence, and 
weighing arguments, and establishing your 
opinions. It may be that in regard to many 
subjects, you will not be able to satisfy your- 
selves on all points. But you must not leave 
these subjects in all the vagueness of entirely 
unsettled opinions. You may examine them. 
In this way you may learn on what points sat- 
isfaction is to be obtained, in your present state 
of knowledge. You may know just where 
there is doubt, and mystery, and want of evi- 
dence. You may, in this way, be enabled to 
say, in regard to any subject, a so far I can 
see clearly, and understand fully; in regard to 
these points I have a distinct and positive be- 
lief, and am able to give the reasons of my 
belief. But, in regard to certain other points, 
upon the same subject, I am in doubt, I wish 
for further knowledge, more light, clearer and 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 127 

less confused evidence, and therefore I have 
marked those points for further examination. 
The first practical principle which I would 
inculcate then, is to cherish activity of mind 
in the investigation of all subjects which may 
come under your consideration, to keep your- 
selves ever in an inquiring frame, so that you 
may acquire at once and promptly as accurate 
knowledge of the various objects around you 
and the various subjects which may be pre- 
sented for your consideration, and form as cor- 
rect opinions in regard to them as possible. 
Your conduct must be shaped by them as you 
pass. It is important, therefore, that you form 
the habit of examining them at once, and of de- 
ciding promptly as you pass. Cherish then, 
I would say, ever cherish an enquiring activity 
of mind. 

In the second place, ever act promptly, and 
frankly, and fully according to your convic- 
tions at the time. Do you believe that a 
certain course of conduct is to day, your duty? 
Then engage in that course at once, without 
hesitation, and with a whole heart. There 
are some s who are ever hesitating in their 



1:28 young man's assistant. 

course. They fear that to morrow the sub- 
ject may appear to them differently from what 
it does to day. Therefore, they spend the 
present time in idly waiting for further evi- 
dence, or go forward with a faltering step. 
They forget that, so far as duty is concerned, 
we are all beings of the present moment. The 
days which are passed, are gone forever from 
us. It may be, that the opinions, which we 
then entertained, are passed away with them, 
and that we have altered our conduct from the 
very courses, which we then most conscien- 
tiously regarded as the courses of duty. But 
what then? The opinions, which have passed 
away, were, at the time we embraced them, 
truth to our minds. The courses of conduct, 
in which we then engaged, were to our con- 
sciences the courses of duty. Our embrac- 
ing those opinions, and engaging in those 
courses of conduct has been the very process 
employed by God to prepare us for our pres- 
ent opinions and duties. By embracing and 
performing them, we strengthened, within us, 
our devotion to truth and to duty, and we ac- 
quired intellectual power, and moral discern- 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 129 

ment to enable us to examine more thoroughly 
and judge more correctly, than we otherwise 
could have done, in regard to our present du- 
ties and opinions. And so too, there is no 
doubt, if our minds expand, that the time will 
come, when some of our present opinions may 
seem erroneous, when we may feel ourselves 
called upon to depart from some of our pres- 
ent courses of conduct. But what then? Shall 
we neglect to form opinions? Shall we en- 
ter upon no courses of conduct whatever? 
Shall we cease to think, believe and act? — 
Certainly not. We are beings of the pres- 
ent moment, we must embrace opinions and 
perform duties at the present time. We must 
embrace those opinions too, which appear to 
us now to be the truth, and enter upon those 
courses of conduct which appear to us now, 
to be duty. The possibility, or even the prob- 
ability, of a change hereafter, ought not to 
cause us to faulter now. We should be whole 
hearted, acting frankly and fully up to the 
convictions of the present time. If, after the 
best examination I am enabled to give a sub- 
ject, the truth appears to my mind to be upon 



130 young man's assistant. 

one side rather than upon the other, I will em- 
brace that side of the question, openly and 
frankly. So, too, if after the best examina- 
tion 1 can give a subject, I am satisfied as to 
the course of duty, I will enter upon that 
course, openly and frankly. In so doing, I do 
not say that I will never change my opinions, 
that I will never alter my conduct. I only say, 
that, as long as the reasons in support of these 
opinions appear to my mind as they now do, I 
shall adhere to them, that, as long as these 
courses of conduct appear to me to be my 
duty, so long shall I continue in them. The 
second practical principle then, which I would 
draw from my general views upon the subject, 
is, that we should ever act promptly, frankly 
and fully up to our convictions at the time. It 
matters not what may have been our convic- 
tions in former times. They are past and 
gone. They have fulfilled their mission, have 
prepared the way for, and have introduced 
our present convictions. Nor are we to trou- 
ble ourselves, as to what may be our convic- 
tions at some future time. That is no con- 
cern of ours. We are beings of the present 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 131 

moment, and are bound to perform the duties 
of the present moment, to act out the convic- 
tions of the present moment. It is in this way, 
that we shall strengthen our devotion to truth 
and to duty. It is in this way, that we shall 
acquire mental power and moral discernment 
for future c!oubts and emergences. It is in 
this way, that we shall, by the right discharge 
of the duties of the present, prepare our- 
selves for the better discharge of our duties in 
all time to come. 

But I have hinted at the possibility, nay 
more, at the probability of changes in opinion, 
and of changes in conduct. The third practi- 
cal principle then, which I would deduce from 
the general remarks I have made, is, that you 
should ever keep your minds open to con- 
viction. If certain opinions should appear to 
your mind to be true, that is a sufficient reason 
for your embracing them. But it is no reason 
why you should close your minds to all further 
consideration of the subject, why you should 
shut out all further convictions. You have 
believed a certain opinion to be true. That is 
sufficient to account for the influence, exerted 



132 young man's assistant. 

over your conduct, by that opinion. But, 
that you have, in times past, believed an opin- 
ion to be true, is no sufficient reason for re- 
fusing to, consider and weigh the doubts, which 
may arise in regard to it. That you have be- 
lieved it to be true, is no reason of itself why 
you should continue to believe it to be true. 
That you have been governed by this opinion 
in your conduct, when you believed it to be 
true, is no reason why you should continue to 
be governed by it, now that you have doubts 
of its correctness? And so in regard to duty. 
That you have believed a certain course of 
conduct to be your duty, is a sufficient reason 
for your having pursued that course. But, it 
is not a reason sufficient to justify your ne- 
glect to examine doubts, which may arise in 
regard to that course, your neglect to consider 
the query, which may sometimes spring up, 
whether that course of conduct be in accor- 
dance with your duty or not. Nor is it a rea- 
son sufficient to justify your adherence to that 
course, after you are convinced that it is wrong, 
or even after you may have good reason to 
doubt whether it be correct. Your circum- 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 133 

stances are constantly changing. And every 
change places you in a new position, causes 
you to look upon subjects from a different point 
of observation. The aspects, which are thus 
successively presented to your view, will vary 
from each other, and consequently your con- 
clusions will vary to accord with them. Then 
too, as your circumstances vary, your duties 
themselves will vary, in their positive charac- 
ter. What it was your duty to do yesterday, 
it may not be your duty to do to day. And 
what it is your duty to do to day, it may not 
be your duty to do to morrow. And these 
changes may result simply from a change in 
your circumstances and relations, without any 
change in yourself, as to motive, intention or 
purpose. You perceive, therefore, the pro- 
priety of the direction I would give, the prac- 
tical conclusion which I would adopt, that you 
should ever keep your minds open to convic- 
tion. I do not mean that you should be ever 
wavering, passing from one side of a question 
to another, ever yielding your assent to the 
last book you may have read, on the last ar- 
gument you may have heard. This does not 

12 



134 young man's assistant. 

result from openness to conviction, but from 
vagueness of views. I may have clear and 
distinct views of a certain subject. While in 
the possession of these views, 1 may read the 
arguments of an opponent. In doing this, 
under these circumstances, I shall be able to 
see clearly the bearing of each position on my 
views. I shall know, at once, what objec- 
tions are of no weight, and what are worthy 
a careful consideration. Shall I under such 
circumstances, be of the number of those who 
are continually wavering, passing from one 
side of the question to the other, and ever 
yielding assent to the last book read, or the 
last argument heard. Most surely not. But 
suppose an individual has no clear views, has 
only some vague and general impressions upon 
any subject. He reads a book upon one side 
of the question. The arguments appear plausi- 
ble, the conclusion seems to be fairly drawn, 
and he is at once carried away, and yields his 
assent. He reads a book upon the opposite 
side of the question, in which the unsound- 
ness of the arguments, and the error of the 
conclusion , in the one just read, are so pointed 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. , 135 

out, as to excite his surprise, and now he is 
again carried away, but in an opposite direc- 
tion. Wavering in opinions then, arises not 
from keeping the mind open to conviction, 
but from want of clearness and distinctness in 
our ideas, from not knowing precisely what we 
do believe and the particular reasons why we 
believe. Remember that you are imperfect 
beings, that your present views are, and must 
necessarily be, narrow and limited, compared 
with what may be your views at some future 
time. And consequently be careful ever to 
keep your minds open to conviction. 

Finally: there is another important practi- 
cal principle, nearly connected with the last, 
and that is, ever to be ready to admit to your 
own mind, and to acknowledge to others open- 
ly and frankly, that you have been in error, 
both in regard to opinions, and in regard to 
practice. 

This, I believe, is the greatest practical dif- 
ficulty. Men are unwilling to admit, even to 
their own minds, they are particularly unwil- 
ling to acknowledge to others, that they have 
been in error. But why should there be such 



a reluctance? Is error so very uncommon in 
the world, that he who acknowledges that he 
has been in error, must be pointed at with the 
ringer of scorn ? To err is human. It is a 
necessary result of the imperfection of hu- 
man nature, of the narrow views which men 
are often compelled to take, and to regard in 
practice, when viewed in connection with the 
fact, that the circumstances of life are contin- 
ually changing, and man's views continually 
varying. There can be no disgrace in the 
simple fact of having been in error. If there 
be disgrace attached to the fact, it must arise 
from some attendant circumstances, from hav- 
ing given way to indolence, carelessness or 
prejudice. There is no disgrace attached to 
the fact of a change in opinions or practice. 
The disgrace, if there be any, must arise from 
having made the change without sufficient rea- 
son. Be careful, then, ever to cherish such 
feelings, as will cause you to be at all times 
ready to admit to your own mind and to ac- 
knowledge to others, that you have been in 
error in regard both to opinions and to prac- 
tice. This is the state of feelin"; which con- 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 137 

sistency of character requires, and which is 
calculated to promote your own individual 
and inward peace and happiness. It is the 
course which consistency of character re- 
quires. Do you point me to my opinions 
one year ago, and remind me of the zeal, 
with which I then supported those opinions? 
My answer is, and it is a sufficient answer be- 
fore my own conscience and my God, that I 
then honestly believed those opinions to be 
true. Do you point me to my present opin- 
ions, entirely the reverse of the former, and 
reproach me with having changed. My an- 
swer is, and this too, is a sufficient answer 
before my conscience and my God, that, up- 
on further examination, I have been led hon- 
estly to believe that my former opinions were 
erroneous, and therefore I have rejected 
them, and honestly to believe that the opin- 
ions, which I have now embraced, are true, 
and therefore I have embraced them. In all 
this I have been consistent with myself, true 
to my original motives, purposes and inten- 
tions, I have been influenced, through the 
whole, by the same unwavering devotion to 

12* 



138 young man's assistant. 

truth and to duty. And I am ready, frankly 
toscknowledge that I have been in error, 
and that I have changed my opinions. In. 
this way, should every individual, as I con- 
ceive, be ready to give an answer to them 
that ask a reason for any change, in either 
opinions or in practice, which may have been 
made. 

I have thus, my friends, endeavored to 
point out the proper foundation and the true 
nature of consistency of character. I have 
endeavored to show that it consists in an un- 
wavering devotion to truth and to duty, that 
it does not forbid, but that, often on the con- 
trary, it actually requires changes in opinions, 
changes in practice, and changes in the de- 
nominational or party relations which we 
may have sustained. I have said that he, 
who would maintain true consistency of char- 
acter, should cherish an actively enquiring, 
state of mind, in regard to the various sub- 
jects which may be presented for his con- 
sideration, that he should ever act openly and 
frankly and fully, according to his convic- 
tions at the time, that he should ever keep. 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 139 

'his mind open to conviction, and ever hold 
himself ready to admit to his own mind and 
to acknowledge to others that he has been in 
error. Such, in my view, is the nature and 
foundation of true consistency of character, 
and such the practical principles, by an adhe- 
rence to which an individual may maintain 
true consistency of character. 

A single remark more and I have done. 
There are two courses, which men usually 
pursue in regard to this subject. Some look 
solely to the opinions of their fellow men, 
and endeavor to have their conduct appear 
consistent to those around. Others there 
are, who seek only for the approval of their 
own consciences, and the approbation of 
their God. The endeavor of such is, to 
maintain consistency before their own hearts, 
and in the presence of a heart-searching Je- 
hovah, a consistency of feeling, intention and 
purpose. The former of these courses is 
one that is attended with constant perplexity. 
Our fellow men, those around us, judge so 
differently one from another, comparing our 
-conduct with such different standards^ and 



140 young man's assistant. 

viewing it from such different points of ob- 
servation, that it is utterly impossible ever to 
secure the approbation of all, ever to appear 
consistent, at all limes, in the eyes of all. 
The more we attempt it, the more harrassed 
and perplexed we shall be. But the latter 
course, seeking the approbation of our con- 
sciences and of our God, striving, not merely 
to appear truly self-consistent in our charac- 
ters, but to be truly so, before our own hearts 
and in the presence of the heart-searching 
Jehovah, this is the course of peace and hap- 
piness. In the pursuit of this course, you 
are self-sustained, nay more, you are sustain- 
ed from above, amid all the censures which 
may be heaped upon you from without. Con- 
sequently you can pass peacefully along, un- 
disturbed by outward influences and prevail- 
ing reports. Nay more, you can pass peace- 
fully along, through changes which you may 
be called to make, in your opinions, in your 
conduct, in your party and denominational 
relations, ever maintaining true consistency 
of character, and a consistency of feeling, 
motive, intention and purpose^ and ever 



CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 141 

guided by the uprightness and integrity of 
your own hearts, and ever sustained by the 
conscious enjoyment of the approbation of 
your God. 



LETTER V 



MORAL DANGERS. 



Introduction — The first source of danger, a neglect to- 
acquire resources of happiness within one's self. Men 
created with social affections, and bound together in 
society. Great care should be exercised in choosing 
associates — To feel able to exercise this care one 
should feel, to a degree, independent of society — It is 
for the want of this feeling of independence that 
many young men fall into dangerous places of amuse- 
ment and become addicted to gross and ruinous vices. 
The second source of danger, the social drinking of 
wine — This is useless — The young do not need wine, 
It is dangerous — It mingles with many of our com- 
mon enjoyments and amusements — It excites the 
thirst for stronger stimulants — it destroys health and 
character. This, connected with the error that mer- 
riment is happiness — This shown to be a mistake — 
Merriment can be participated by the most polluted — 
it calls into exercise none of the higher powers and 
affections of our nature — it leaves a sense of degra- 
dation upon the mind — it cannot be enjoyed with 
those we most love and value among our friends — 
Conclusion. 



MORAL DANGER. 143 

My Young Friends, 

I wish, in this letter, to raise the warn- 
ing voice, to speak of the dangers, the deep,, 
wide spread and ever threatening dangers, by 
which I believe you to be surrounded. In 
speaking upon such a subject, it will become 
me to speak plainly and distinctly. If the 
trumpet give an uncertain sound, the blood of 
those who are lost will be required at the 
hands of the watchman. 

The dangers to which young men are ex- 
posed. What are some of them? Your first 
danger, and one which exposes you to many 
others, arises from the neglect to acquire re- 
sources of happiness within yourselves. Man 
was made for society. He is blessed with so- 
cial affections. These bind him strongly to 
his fellows. These open to the heart, inlets 
of much enjoyment. The young, especially, 
feel the need of society. They are, as yet, 
comparatively ignorant, the mind is not as yet, 
stored with materials for reflection. And, 
even if it were, the individual is hardly capa- 
ble, as yet, of deriving much happiness from 
his own reflections. And then, too, hope 



144 young man's assistant. 

is a gorgeous painter, coloring every thing 
around with the most brilliant hues. All 
objects appear inviting, all persons are clothed 
in the garb of friendship. He is all unsuspi- 
cious; his heart leaps for joy at the sight of 
a fellow being. This fondness for society is 
all as it should be, in its natural state. But it 
needs regulation. There is a choice in com- 
panions. Some are pure and virtuous. Their 
very presence checks every thing that is un- 
holy and improper. Their language, even up- 
on the most ordinary topics, breathes a spirit 
of purity, and kindness, and devotion. How 
blessed is that young man, whose companions 
are of this character. With them he is safe. 
Their society has a tendency to assimilate 
those who associate with them, to themselves 
in feeling and in character. But all compan- 
ions are not of this character. There are 
those, whose characters are the very reverse of 
all this. Their very presence excites unholy 
and improper thoughts. Their most ordinary 
language is tainted with impurity, unkindness, 
or profanity. How unfortunate is that 
young man, whose associates are of this char- 



MORAL DANGER. 145 

acter. With them, he is ever exposed to 
danger. Their society has a tendency to as- 
similate him to themselves in feelings and in 
character. Such being the difference in char- 
acter, and, such the different influences exerted 
by the companions, with whom we may asso- 
ciate, it is important that much care be exer- 
cised in the selection of associates. But in 
order that care may be exercised, the individu- 
al must be, in a degree, independent of asso- 
ciates. He should feel that, if he cannot 
readily meet with those whose characters are 
worthy, and whose influence will be good, he 
can be happy, for a time at least, without com- 
panions. It is often the case, I speak of facts, 
it is often the case, that young men fail to treas- 
ure up the resources of happiness within them- 
selves, which may render them independent, 
in a degree of companions. If they have an 
evening unemployed,- an evening, when not 
actually driven to their business, they cannot 
sit down and spend that evening by them- 
selves. They are uneasy. They are unhap- 
py. They feel a necessity upon them to go 
forth in search of associates or of amusement. 

13 



146 • young man's assistant. 

And, what is worst of all, feeling that they 
must have associates or amusements, that they 
cannot be contented without they exercise no 
discretion in the choice, but yield themselves 
to the first that may offer. There are others 
of a different character, fond of society indeed, 
and fond of amusements, they are kind and 
affable with all, but are careful in the selec- 
tions of those with whom they suffer them- 
selves to become intimate. If they find a 
companion whom they can respect and es- 
teem, in whose society they are strengthened 
in their virtuous principles, they rejoice and 
thank God. But, if such a companion does 
not readily offer, they can sit down in their 
rooms and, by themselves, in some way, enjoy 
much happiness. They do not feel that 
craving demand for society, which will com- 
pel them to associate with evil persons rather 
than be alone. So these take pleasure in oc- 
casional amusement. But as the amusements 
which offer themselves are different in char- 
acter and influence, they feel themselves called 
upon to exercise a choice. If no amusement 
which is of a proper character, and which is 



MORAL DANGER. 147 

calculated to exert a healthful influence, of- 
fers, they can be happy without; if those which 
are of a worthy character and which exert a 
healthful influence offer themselves they gladly 
and gratefully enjoy them. I appeal, my 
young friends, to yourselves. Is not the po- 
sition which I have taken true? Is not the 
clanger I have named great? Why, after the 
shops are closed and the business of the day is 
ended, why is the remainder of the evening 
spent as it often is, and that by many, in the 
billiard room or at the card table, or at the 
theatre, or in some other equally dangerous 
place of amusement? Do you say that this 
is not done, except by those who have formed 
a taste for such amusements? Believe me, 
this is not the case. All, indeed, who attend 
upon them soon acquire a taste and a fondness 
for them. But it is an acquired taste. It is 
the case with some, I presume, that when they 
first leave their parents and go to reside abroad, 
they know not what a billiard table is, they 
know not the spots upon the card, which give 
it its designation and its value in the game. 
How came they then, in these places? Be- 



148 young man's assistant. 

cause they could not bear to be alone.— 
Because they had no resources of happiness 
within themselves. They sought for, they 
longed after companions. And rather than 
be without, they consented to associate with 
those who have enticed them to these places. 
They are seeking only amusement, a pleas- 
ant way of passing the present hour, but they 
are laying the foundation of habits, and ex- 
citing a fondness and a taste, which will not 
be satisfied with mere amusement, which will 
lead to ruin. Should those young men, who 
now, merely for the sake of amusement, pass 
their time at the whist table or in the billiard 
room or in some other equally dangerous 
place of amusement, remove to the older and 
more corrupt cities of our land, they will be 
in great danger of becoming the inmates of 
those places technically and truly called hells. 
The beginning, then, of those courses, 
which often prove the ruin of our young men, 
is in the want of resources of happiness with- 
in themselves. I have seen the pure minded, 
the kind hearted, the noble spirited, the high- 
ly talented, fall prostrate before the wither- 



MORAL DANGER. 149 

ing influences of vices, too gross to be here 
particularly dwelt upon. And how, I have 
asked, have they been led into these vices? 
The answer has been, they had no resources 
of happiness within themselves. They could 
not content themselves to be alone. They 
must have amusement from without. They 
must have companions. This, then, my 
young friends, is the first, and the most fruit- 
ful source of danger. When I have discov- 
ered this want of inward resources of hap- 
piness I have trembled, even though there 
were other and many promising traits of 
character. Yes, even though the young man 
were pious, regulating his conduct upon re- 
ligious principles, if he have not, in connec- 
tion with, and under the influence of his prin- 
ciples of piety, acquired the power and the 
habit of employing himself alone, a feeling 
that he is not dependent for happiness upon 
associates and amusements, or outward ex- 
citements of any kind, I should tremble 
for his religious character, I should earnestly 
hope, and fervently pray, but should hardly 
expect that such a one would remain faith- 
13* 



150 young man's ASSISTANT. 

ful to the end. To parents, I would say 3 
whatever tastes you may cultivate, whatever 
habits you may form, whatever principles you 
may fix, if you do not, as the crowning of all 
your efforts, accustom your children to derive, 
in solitary hours and without a hankering for 
society, individual enjoyment from these tastes 
and habits and principles, there is great dan- 
ger that your work will be in vain. My young 
friends, you may regard me as extravagant or 
fanatical, but when I look back upon my own 
youth, and enquire for what was then the most 
prolific source of danger, when I look to those 
of my companions, who have fallen in the way, 
when I look around me and see the young men 
that are going the downward road, I feel that 
the most fruitful source of danger is the want 
of resources of happiness within one's self. 
This, I say, is the most prolific source of dan- 
ger, because it opens the avenues to almost 
every other danger. Could I speak so as to 
move the very depths of your heart, and leave 
an impression deep, indelible and as lasting as 
life, I would gladly so speak, as to awaken 
you to a realizing sense of the danger to which 



MORA.L DANGER. 151 

you are exposed, from this source. 1 would 
gladly so speak as to move you to a constant 
and ever watchful guard against this danger, 
the danger arising from the want of some re- 
sources of happiness within yourselves, some- 
thing which shall render you, to a degree, in- 
dependent of associates, and enable you still 
to enjoy yourselves, though left alone. 

The second source of danger, to which I 
would direct your attention is to be found in 
the social drinking of wine. I am not now 
about to address to you a temperance lecture. 
You well know that there are thousands of 
young men, who regard themselves as friends 
of temperance, who yet make free and frequent 
use of wine, especially are there many, who 
indulge in the social driw~king of wine. This 
seems to be thought to be a necessary ingre- 
dient of social enjoyment. I am not here 
about to discuss the propriety of placing wine 
under the prescriptive ban of the temperance 
pledge. I am speaking as you will under- 
stand, to young men, of the dangers to which 
they are exposed. Is there to be a military 
supper ? the idea that any one can sit down at 



152 young man's assistant. 

such a place, and participate and enjoy himself, 
would seem to many perfectly absurd and ri- 
diculous. The idea that a company of friends 
and acquaintances can spend the evening to- 
gether in any social enjoyment without wine 
seems by many to be thought strange. And 
the dangers to which I have already alluded 
are greatly enhanced, by the circumstance, 
that there the wine bottle must be introduced, 
to give life and promote merriment. Is a ride 
proposed? You will say to me, surely you 
can have no objection to this. It is a relief 
from the cares, and an escape from the tedium 
of business, it affords healthful exercise, intro- 
duces one to the enjoyment of pure and fresh 
air, lays open to the view of him who rides, the 
works of nature, the beautiful scenery of hill 
and dale, bending grass and waving corn; oh a 
ride is truly exhilirating, refreshing, and it may- 
be, purifying in its influence! surely you can 
have no objections to a ride, even a social ride. 
No, my friends, I have no objection. I could 
say much in favor of the thing itself, when 
stripped of all connection with improper 
times and improper attendant circumstances. 



MORAL DANGER. 153 

But, tell me, would not most of our young 
men feel that a ride, without some place of 
resort, where they might indulge in the social 
drinking of wine, would be a tame affair in- 
deed. Does one open in the vicinity of any 
of our cities or villages, a place of resort, for 
a ride and for an airing? Does he wish to in- 
duce young men to resort to it? And what is 
his advertisement? He may speak of the beau- 
ty of the scenery, of the freshness of the air, 
of the stillness, the great retirement, and good 
accommodations. But he closes his adver- 
tisement, and crowns the whole, by making 
known, that the cellar is well stored with the 
choicest of wines and liquors. This he pro- 
claims with an emphasis, as that, which, if all 
other recommendations should fail, will be 
sure to draw custom. And do not these men 
understand themselves, their own interest? Do 
they not know, what is expected by those 
who ride from our cities and villages, and what 
is necessary in order to give satisfaction. It is 
not to the ride then, that I object; of that in it- 
self considered, I approve. That, at proper 
times, I would commend. What I object to, 



154 young man's assistant. 

is the idea that you cannot have a social ride, 
that it would be a stupid and tame affair, with- 
out some place of resort, where you may in- 
dulge in the social drinking of wine. And 
so it is, in regard to almost every social en- 
joyment. 

This social drinking of wine is, 1 say, 
fraught with great danger. In the first place, 
it is useless. It does you no good. If it 
produces excitement, and promotes merri- 
ment, it is an unnatural excitement and mer- 
riment. It may be thrilling, loud and bois- 
terous, but it is unnatural and leaves the sys- 
tem, both body and mind, in an unnatural 
and dangerous condition. I 'say that wine is 
useless, it is certainly injurious. On this 
point, I speak, not merely my own opinion, 
not merely the opinion of others in tempe- 
rance, whom you may regard as fanatical. — 
I will refer you to the writings of Dr. Combe, 
one who will be admitted by all to be a fair 
minded and rational man. In speaking upon 
this subject, he says, "Wine is not only un- 
necessary, but positively detrimental to chil- 
dren," that is to children in general, for he 



MORAL DANGER. 155 

admits that there may be exceptions. "In 
youth, the natural tendency is to excitement, 
and, consequently, as a general rule, the stim- 
ulus of fermented liquor is injurious." If, 
says he, "it be contended that this amounts 
to a virtual prohibition of wine and stimulant 
liquors, I admit, at once, that when the whole 
animal functions go on healthfully and ener- 
getically without them, their use is in my 
opinion, injurious to health. "If it be asked," 
he says, in another place, "if it be asked 
whether I go the length of proscribing all fer - 
mented liquors, I answer that I do not, I mere- 
ly mean, that when the general health is per- 
fect, without them, they ought not to be ta- 
ken, because, then, their only effect is to pro- 
duce unnatural excitement." He gives as a 
rule that they are not to be taken when they 
quicken the circulation, excite the mind, or 
disturb the digestion. But is not the very 
reason why young persons resort to the so- 
cial drinking of wine, that it may excite the 
mind? The social drinking of wine is use- 
less, it is dangerous. The remarks which I 
have quoted, refer to health; it is dangerous 



156 young man's assistant. 

to character. It excites a hankering, which 
is strengthened by repeated indulgence, until 
it becomes too strong to be satisfied with 
wine, it demands some more powerful stimu- 
lant. It is often the case that those, who be- 
gan with wine, soon resorted to whiskey 
punch and other drinks of a still stronger na- 
ture. It often happens, that those, who, in 
the social party, and in the presence of la- 
dies, will only take their glass of wine, will 
when they have escorted these ladies to their 
residences, resort to some place where can 
be obtained something stronger than wine. 
But my friends, what leads me to speak upon 
this point, more plainly and earnestly than I 
otherwise should do, is, that I am satisfied, 
that nine tenths of all the intemperance, 
which has prevailed among that class which I 
am addressing, has been produced by the 
social drinking of wine. Were I speaking to 
hard laboring persons, were I speaking to 
lumbermen, were I speaking to the hardy 
sailor, were I speaking to the emigrants, I 
should speak differently, for those classes are 
not in danger from the social drinking of wine. 



MORAL DANGER. 15? 

Should I point out to them their danger, I 
must touch upon different topics. But you 
will remember that I am not speaking to them,, 
that I am speaking to you, young men. It is 
my wish, not to direct your thoughts to oth- 
ers, but to fix them upen the dangers to which 
you are yourselves exposed. And, I believe 
that I am fully and completely within bounds, 
when I say that nine tenths of all the intem- 
perance,which has prevailed among the classes, 
to which you probably belong, has been pro- 
duced by the social drinking of wine. Could 
I, with prophetic glance, see who, among my 
readers, are to become intemperate, if any 
such be among them, I should undoubtedly 
find them to be those, who are given to the 
social drinking of wine, those who will not 
take warning, who will not fly from the dan- 
ger which threatens them. Understand me,, 
my friends, I am not now speaking to those 
who have long been in this habit. I speak to 
you, young men, in regard to a habit, which 
has not yet acquired the command over you. 
Let me, then, with all the solemnity of one 
who feels that he is accountable for what he 

14 



158 YOUNG 

says, with all the affection of one who would 
labor day and night for your good, and with 
all^the'earnestness of one, who speaks from 
the deepest convictions of the heart, let me 
warn you, lefme beseech you, to avoid this 
dangerous practice, the social drinking of wine. 
Avoid it, as you would the haunts of some 
evil beast^avoid it as you would the road, 
where you feel certain that many of the trav- 
ellers will be destroyed, and where it would be 
folly to suppose that you should be among the 
favored few, who escape. Yes, I repeat, 
come not near this dangerous practice, the so- 
cial drinking of wine, fly from it as you would 
from some deadly poison. The way may ap- 
pear smooth and pleasant at first, there may 
be much of merriment, but as you pass down 
the declivity, it will be constantly becoming 
more steep, and your descent more rapid ; as 
you pass down, I say, you will find it becom- 
ing dark and gloomy, and ere long, you will 
perceive the way scattered with marks of the 
bloated forms, the wrecked property, the shat- 
tered minds of those, who once thought that 
way as fair and as smooth as it now seems to 



MORAL DANGER. 159 

you. Come not near it, fly from it. I know 
not but I ought, before dismissing this topic, to 
allude to the mistaken notion which many 
young men have, and which gives rise to in- 
dulgences like the one I have noticed. The 
mistake is, that merriment and happiness are 
one and the same thing. This, I say, is a 
mistake. In a season of merriment, there is a 
tumultuous excitement of the feelings and the 
passions. The individuals become boisterous. 
There is the coarse joke, the comic song, the 
loud laugh. These are some of the elements 
of a scene of merriment. Is this happiness? 
Just look at the state of feelings in which one 
may enter upon such a scene. The most 
guilty and polluted and abandoned wretch 
living, he whose breast is a living and torment- 
ing hell, may join in such a scene, and may in 
the boisterousness of his merriment, seem to 
forget all that he was. But when the scene 
of merriment is gone, then his guilty or re- 
morseful feelings return to him. And when 
they return, the thoughts of his temporary 
merriment gives him no peace. It seems to 
him to have been madness. Then, too, con- 



160 young man's assistant. 

sider the parts that are called into play by- 
such a scene. Are the higher powers, the fi- 
ner feelings, and the purer affections of the 
soul called into play in a scene of wine ex- 
cited merriment? Most surely not; they are 
the animal appetites and passions, which have 
been gratified and indulged, and through the 
indulgence of which, the excitement has been 
produced. Just consider the comparisons, 
which those fond of such scenes, employ to 
express their idea of the pleasure. 'Our friend 
was as merry as' — 'as what, as an angel?' 'No, 
as merry as' — Your own imagination can com- 
plete the sentence. But if it be true to fact, 
it will complete the sentence in such a way as 
will convey a sense of the degradation, incur- 
red by the scene. Again, these scenes of 
merriment are closed to ladies. Is he who is 
fond of them and often indulges in them, a 
brother or a husband? Will he take with him 
his sister or his wife? And why not? Do not 
our sisters and our wives love us. Will they not 
rejoice to see us enjoying happiness ? Do we 
not love them and shall we not be glad to have 
them witness our happiness? The very idea 



MORAL DANGER. 161 

of their being with us, tells us, in language 
that we cannot escape, that this same merri- 
ment in which we can indulge, in the most 
polluted state of the soul, in which only the 
lower and baser parts of our nature, those 
which ally us to brutes, are excited, which we 
cannot look back upon with such pleasure as 
would lead us to speak of them before those 
we respect, which we designate but by com- 
parisons derogatory to our character, and in 
which we cannot admit those nearest and dear- 
est to us to participate and sympathize with us, 
that this same merriment is not happiness. I 
have thus, my young friends, spoken of some 
of the dangers to which you are exposed. — 
There are other dangers still of which I shall 
speak in my next letter. Those to which I 
have now directed your attention are indeed 
truly appalling. They have slain, and they 
are every day slaying their thousands, and 
their tens of thousands. And these too, from 
among the brightest and the most promising 
of the land. Let rne then,intreat you, not to 
dismiss the suggestions of this letter, with a 
mere passing remark. Weigh them carefully., 
and apply them faithfully. 14-* 



LETTER VI. 



MORAL DANGER. 



Introduction — There 13 danger of resting the hope of fu- 
ture security against vice on the ground of present ab- 
horrence of vicious indulgence — Many now debased 
and degraded, once felt equally strong abhorrence — 
How is it, and why is it, that men become so chang- 
ed in feelings and in character? It is by a gradual 
and almost imperceptible process, by taking one short 
step after another. The danger is in first, and trifling 
indulgences. First and trifling indulgences deaden 
the moral sensibilities, unfit the mind for judging cor- 
rectly of the enormity of any particular crime, or 
the evil of any particular indulgence, and bring the in- 
dividual into contact with temptations too powerful for 
him to withstand. There is danger in indifference to 
vice — in confidence in one's moral strength — in disre- 
gard of the universally corrupting influence of a sin- 
gle vice upon the whole character, and in a neglect to 
employ the means provided for escape. There is dan- 
ger from evil associates, danger arising from the regu- 
lar operation of the laws of our nature — Conclusion. 



moral danger. 163 

My Young Friends, 

I must continue in this letter, the admon- 
itory strain which I commenced in my last. 
The dangers to which you are exposed are so 
many, and of such a specious appearance 
and character, that I cannot dismiss them all 
within the short compass of a single letter. 
I have spoken/jn my last, of the dangers ari- 
sing from a neglect to provide resources of hap- 
piness within one's self, and from the still too 
prevalent practice of the social drinking of 
wine. I shall, in this letter, warn you against 
other dangers. 

And first, I would say that you are much in 
danger, from the false notions you may enter- 
tain, in regard to the grounds of your security. 
You now shudder at the very thought of be- 
coming, yourselves, dissipated, abandoned and 
profligate. And you feel perfectly confident, 
that you never shall become so, because your 
feelings so readily revolt at the very thought. 
Your present abhorrence of vice and degrada- 
tion, is your ground of hope, that you shall 
ever remain secure. But, my young friends, 
I must tell you, that this is a very unsafe ground 



164 young man's assistant. 

on which to rest your hopes of security. If 
you look around, you can see many who are 
now sunk in the most debasing degradation. 
You turn from them with loathing and disgust. 
You believe it to be impossible, that you should 
yourselves ever become so debased, so degra- 
ded. But I can assure you, that these very 
persons, in all probability, once felt as great an 
abhorrence of the vices, to which they are 
now addicted, of which they are now the slaves, 
and the victims, as you are conscious of feel- 
ing, at the present moment. For it is a fact, 
that men may, and that men often do, volun- 
tarily yield to those very indulgences, and 
commit those very crimes in after life, the bare 
mention of which, in their early years, filled 
them with horror. It is no sure sign, then, 
that you will not, hereafter, sink into the depths 
of vicious indulgence, that your feelings now 
revolt, at the sight, or thought, or mention of 
it. But how is it, and why is it, you will ask, 
that men become so changed? How is it, and 
why is it, that he, who in early life is alive to 
duty, and trembles at the thought of vice, 
should become so changed as to laugh at the 



MORAL DANGER. 165 

mention of duty, and voluntarily to plunge, 
headlong, into the lowest depths of vicious in- 
dulgence? In answer to the question, how it 
is that men become so changed, I would say it 
is, by a gradual, and at the time, an al- 
most imperceptible process, by taking first one 
short step from the path of duty and then 
another short step, and then another as short. 
Each is short. And every successive step 
seems to advance but a very short distance, 
and a distance too, which may be easily retra- 
ced. But these short steps as they succeed 
each other, are carrying the individual further 
and further from the path of duty. 

In answer to the question, why it is, that men 
^ecome so changed, I should say, it is through 
the deadening and corrupting influence of vice, 
of sinful indulgence. The first departure from 
right, the first indulgence in sin may be but 
trifling in itself, but it may be important in its 
consequences. Its natural influence, will be, 
to blunt and deaden the moral feelings. The 
child, who is accustomed to obey his parents, 
will be shocked, to see another entirely disre- 
gard parental wishes, and parental commands, 



166 young man's assistant. 

But if,, through the power of temptation he is 
led to disobey, he can look with calmness up- 
on his mate who is habitually and obstinately 
disobedient. His indulgence has blunted and 
deadened his own feelings. And so it is in all 
cases, first and trifling departures from duty, 
deaden your dread of wrong doing, and blunt 
your sensibility to what is right. When, for 
the first time you have done wrong, when, for 
example, you have for the first time uttered a 
falsehood, you feel unhappy to think that you 
have done so. This feeling of unhappiness 
you will strive to banish from your bosom. — 
You attempt to justify yourself to your own 
mind. And you say to yourself "I don't care." 
By constantly saying to yourself "I don't care,* 
and under the influence of your natural desire 
to appear consistent to your own mind in your 
words and actions, you will at length acquire 
the feeling of indifference, you will arrive at 
that state of feeling in which it will be true, 
that you don't care. And in this way, your 
first and trifling indulgence has operated to de- 
stroy the delicacy and tenderness of your sen- 
sibility to right and to wrong. 



MORAL DANGER. 167 

Again, you know the effect upon a boy even 
oflosing his character among his mates. It 
often happens, that a boy who is publicly 
punished at school and who in that way loses 
his character among his school mates, becomes 
through the influence of that punishment per- 
fectly indifferent to duty, and utterly reckless 
as to his character. It is very much the same, 
when one loses his character in his own esti- 
mation. If a boy feels that he sustains a char- 
acter for good scholarship, he will be anxious 
to preserve that character. But if he once 
loses that feeling, all his zeal for study goes 
with it. And so it is, to a still greater degree, 
with young men, in regard to moral character. 
If a young man feels that he sustains a charac- 
ter marked by an inviolable regard to duty, and 
known to be so marked by those with whom 
he associates, he will strive to preserve that 
character, he will take much pains, and make 
great efforts to do it. But let him lose this 
character, in his own estimation, let him feel 
that he is not worthy of regard, as being strict- 
ly correct in his conduct, and he will soon be- 
come utterly indifferent and reckless. But 



168 young man's assistant. 

first and trifling departures from duty have 
the effect to lower the character of the indi- 
vidual in his own estimation, and, in that 
way, to destroy his anxiety to lead a pure 
and spotless life. In this way, then, you per- 
ceive that first and trifling indulgences dead- 
en and destroy the moral sensibilities. 

Again, these first and trifling indulgences, 
unfit the mind for judging correctly of the 
enormity of any particular crime, or of the 
evil of any particular indulgence. When we 
speak of any thing as being great or small, 
we mean that it is great, or small, compared 
with some fixed standard of estimation, or 
with the usual habits of feeling and of judg- 
ing, to which the mind is accustomed. For 
example, he who is accustomed to but small 
dealings in money matters, would regard one 
hundred dollars as a very large sum, while he 
who has been accustomed to transactions of 
the value of thousands, would regard one hun- 
dred dollars as a small sum. It is the same 
with regard to actions, both good and bad. — - 
If you are now free from vicious pollution, it 
seems to you a great degradation to be guilty 



MORAL DANGER. 169 

of a certain vicious indulgence, to be guilty, 
for example, of actual intemperance. But if 
you associate freely with those who habitu- 
ally drink, and occasionally indulge to excess, 
and become somewhat merry, and, especially, 
if you should yourself for once or twice be 
overtaken, and become intoxicated, it would 
seem to you but a small thing, but a very tri- 
fling degradation, and perhaps no degradation 
at all, to be guilty of this same vicious in- 
dulgence. Thus, you perceive, that trifling 
indulgences unfit the mind for judging of the 
enormity of any particular crime or of the 
evil of any particular indulgence. For crimes 
and vicious indulgences appear enormous or 
not enormous, according as ihey bear a com- 
parison with our present feelings and present 
habits. 

Still further, first and trifling indulgences will 
often bring you into contact with temptations, 
too powerful for your strength, into circum- 
stances, by the influence of which, you will 
be carried forward to further and vicious in- 
dulgences. Let me illustrate. Here is a 
youth, who has been carefully trained while 

15 



170 young man's assistant. 

under the parental roof. It has been the 
endeavor of his father and his mother to in- 
still into his mind good principles, to fix his 
affections upon proper objects, and to form 
him to correct habits. But, as he has arriv- 
ed to the proper age, he is placed with the 
city merchant, to prepare for the business of 
life. He is sad at parting, and promises both 
to himself and his parents, that he will follow 
strictly the instructions and the advice, which 
have been given. For awhile, he is perfectly 
correct. He is devoted to his master's busi- 
ness, during business hours. His leisure 
time he spends in a profitable manner. The 
pocket money, which he may obtain from the 
perquisites of the store, is carefully saved or 
devoted to the purchase of what is necessary 
and useful. On the sabbath he is regular in 
his attendance upon public worship and dili- 
gent in his endeavors to acquire religious 
knowledge and to secure religious improve- 
ment. At morning and at evening, as he 
rises and retires, his perusal of the Bible and 
his acts of secret prayer open and close the 
day. Such is his course for a while. But, 



MORAL DANGER. 171 

at length, he becomes acquainted with others 
in the same situation with himself, who have 
been longer exposed, and who have fallen 
victims to the temptations by which they 
have been assailed. These appear gay and 
jovial and happy. They are kind in their at- 
tentions and insinuating in their manners. — 
They appear to take a great interest in him 
and to manifest a wish for his improvement. 
They take an interest in his reading and offer 
to furnish him with books, but, at the same 
time, they hint that it would promote cheer- 
fulness and health to relax occasionally, and 
spend an evening in social amusement. The 
books they offer he gladly accepts. But 
they are of a trifling character and of a dan- 
gerous tendency. His companions invite 
him to leave his own place of Worship occa- 
sionally on the Sabbath, and take him first to 
one place, then to another, telling him of the 
pleasure there is, as well as profit, in hear- 
ing different preachers. Fie accepts their 
invitation. As he hears one preacher after 
another, his mind is filled with curiosity, while 
his heart is growing cold and indifferent, in 



172 young man's assistant. 

regard to personal religion. He may, per- 
haps, be improving as a critic upon sermons, 
and styles of preaching, while he moves in a 
retrograde direction as to his own growth in 
grace. But, at length, his companions speak 
of the confinement of the week, and of the 
need of stirring about. They ask him to 
ride out into the country on the Sabbath. — 
And so they proceed, from one step to 
another. If he accepts their invitation to ride 
he is expected to invite them to ride in re- 
turn. And if he does not so invite them, he 
is branded with epithets indicating his mean- 
ness. His expenses are increasing. He 
takes from his master's drawer, to answer pres- 
ent necessity, intending to restore all punc- 
tually, with the first supply he receives. In 
this way, the youth becomes dissipated, is 
guilty of crime, lias lost all regard for the 
feelings of parents, all regard for the distinc- 
tion between right and wrong, and is prepar- 
ed for crimes of the darkest die. Thus this 
youth has become completely changed. But, 
as you see, it was by taking one short step 
after another. It did not take place on a 



MORAL DANGER. 173 

sudden. Each step seemed but short. And 
there was much of remorse in the intervals, 
much of resolving to return, but, when the 
next, temptation came, it seemed so trifling, 
that it was thought that one step, that 
single trifling indulgence, would not make the 
return more difficult. But, my young friends, 
where was the point at which this youth should 
have stopped? It was at the very outset, 
at the first trifling departure from right. — 
When he had become intimately connected 
with these dangerous companions, as you will 
perceive, it would have been more difficult 
for him to have broken away from them, 
than k would have been, at first, to have de- 
clined an intimacy with them. When they 
invite him to ride with them, it would have 
been comparatively an easy matter for him to 
have declined. But, when he had accepted 
their invitation and had enjoyed the ride, it 
would have been a difficult matter to have 
refused to invite them to ride in return, and 
to have endured, in consequence, their re- 
proaches for meanness. When they offered 
to furnish him with books, it would have 

15* 



174 young man's assistant, 

been comparatively easy for him to have de- 
clined. But, when he had taken the books 
and read them, it would have been a diffi- 
cult matter to have objected to the character 
of the books, and, on that account declined 
to read farther, because he must then have 
endured their sneers, at his strict and partic- 
ular notions. When they invited him to ac- 
company them on the Sabbath to various 
meetings, it would have been easy to have 
declined, but after having gone with them 
once, it was difficult to turn abont. At the 
very first trifling departure, then, w T as the 
point where he should have stood firm. If 
you are standing on smooth and level ground, 
at the top of an eminence, whose sides are 
steep and slippery, it is much easier to re- 
main, to stand firm, there, than it is, after 
you have stepped down, to regain your foot- 
hold. Thus you perceive that first and tri- 
fling indulgences have brought the young man 
into circumstances, which exert a controlling 
power over him, into contact with tempta- 
tions, too powerful for him to withstand. 
I have thus, my young friends, endeavored 



MORAL DANGER. 175 

to point out the influence of first and tri- 
fling indulgences, m changing the feelings of 
men in regard to vicious indulgences and 
criminal conduct. I have done this, in or- 
der to shew you that you can place no depen- 
dence for your future security, upon your 
present feelings of abhorrence. Others have 
felt as great an abhorrence as you now (eel, 
and yet they have yielded to temptations, 
have changed in their feelings, and have 
been ruined. Your only security must 
consist in your knowledge of the danger there 
is in first and trifling indulgences. Remem- 
ber then, I beseech you, that doing wrong, 
even in the most trifling act, destroys your 
dread of wrong doing, renders you incapa- 
ble of judging how great the wrong may be, 
which you commit, and may bring you into 
contact with temptations too powerful for your 
resistance. Let me then urge you, by all 
that you value in character, or hope for of 
happiness, let me urge you never, in a single 
instance, to do what you may think is wrong. 
You had better be laughed at by all your 
companions. You had better endure the 



176 young man's assistant* 

severest punishment that could possibly be 
inflicted, than to do or say what you may 
think to be wrong. These sneers of your 
companions will last but a few days. The 
pain of the most severe punishment will soon 
pass away. But the influence of having done 
wrong, what you sincerely believe to have 
been wrong, will cling to you and make you 
unhappy for years. It will, in all probability, 
drive you to wrong doing again, and urge you 
on from one step to another, till it plunges 
you in moral ruin. You may think that no 
one sees you when you are doing wrong, and 
that you will not be detected. But you your- 
selves will know that you have done wrong. 
You will lose your peace of mind in conse- 
quence. For you will not forget your hav- 
ing done wrong. There may indeed be 
times when you will seem to forget it. But 
there will be other times, when it will be 
brought to your mind with a soul stirring pow- 
er. For you cannot, at all times, escape 
from yourselves. Remember then, that your 
security consists in the strength of your feel- 
ing that you are always in danger in your 



MORAL DANGER. 177 

care to avoid first, and what may seem to you 
trifling indulgences. 

There is danger my young friends, arising 
from your indulging feelings of indifference, 
in regard to sin, in regard to its nature and 
influences, and the avenues and temptations 
which lead to it. Yes, 1 say, you are in 
danger, from indulging feelings of indiffer- 
ence, in regard to sin. I know it is common 
in speaking to young men, to speak of vice. 
But I wish to have you look at your con- 
duct, in its relation to the law of God. The 
term, vice, would lead you to look upon 
the actions to which it is applied in their 
relation to yourselves, or to society around 
you. The word sin, when applied to the 
same actions, should lead you to look upon 
these actions in their relation to God, and 
his law, I say, therefore, that you are in 
danger, in great danger, if you are indifferent 
to the nature and influences, the avenues and 
temptations of sin. Suppose, my young 
friends, that you should, each of you, re- 
ceive a communication addressed to the in- 
habitants of the place where you reside, 



178 young man's assistant. 

from physicians whom you regard with con- 
fidence, stating that there was beginning to 
prevail an insiduous and secretly spreading 
disease, a disease which frequently gained 
much strength before the patient could be 
aware of his situation, a disease to which all 
are equally exposed, which entails much suf- 
fering, and in a large proportion of cases, 
proves fatal. And suppose, still further, 
that many should read that communication, 
and then carelessly throw it aside, and think 
no more of the disease. Suppose that they 
should not even enquire into its nature, its 
symptoms, or its predisposing causes, and 
should neglect to enquire whether they them- 
selves were in danger or not. Would you 
not say that such persons were running a 
great risk, were exposing themselves to great 
danger, by their indifference. But I am ad* 
dressingyoung men, who, are under the light of 
Christianity, in aland of Bibles, young men, 
who may have each of them his own Bible 
in his hands, and should not neglect, to be 
thus supplied. Nay, more, these letters are 
not addressed to skeptics, or to confirmed in- 



MORAL DANGER. 179 

fidels. To them I should address a different 
language. I am addressing, therefore, young 
men who profess to regard that book as con- 
taining revelations from God, annunciations 
and instructions of the highest importance to 
man. But if you will open that book you 
will find much said about sin. You will learn 
that it is an abomination in the sight of God, 
that its ways, or consequences, are death, 
that it is hateful to that being of perfect good- 
ness, on whom you depend, and to whom 
you are accountable, that it is destructive of 
the best interests of man, in this world, that 
it is threatened with the severest consequen- 
ces, in the world to come, and that it is an 
evil, a disease to which all are exposed, yea, 
an evil, with which all are actually tainted. 
Now I ask, is it possible, for a thinking, a re- 
flecting young man, who honestly believes 
the Bible to contain a revelation from God, 
and who reads all this in the Bible, in regard 
to sin, is it possible for such an one, to pass 
carelessly over the subject, to spend so little 
thought upon it, as not even to ask what sin 
is, what are its manifestations, and its conse- 



180 young man's assistant. 

quences, the temptations and allurements,^ 
which lead to it, nor enquire whether he may 
not himself, be already tainted with it, and a 
slave to it. And yet, how few there are 
comparatively speaking, especially among 
our young men, w 7 ho do really enquire into 
the whole meaning, and extent, of God's 
requirements. How few are there, who are 
anxiously, and honestly endeavoring to un- 
derstand the insiduous nature, the debasing 
tendency and the awful consequences of sin. 
And are not all such in danger, great danger, 
from their indifference to the nature of sin,, 
of wrong doing? 

There is danger arising from your cher- 
ishing a feeling of self-security. I have al- 
ready spoken of the danger of resting your 
hopes of security, upon present feelings of 
abhorrence. What I mean now, is some- 
thing a little different, a reliance upon one's 
own moral strength, a feeling that we can ev- 
er stand firm, although others may have fallen 
in the same course. There is much, by far 
too much, of this dangerous self reliance, 
self security. You may find young men who 



MORAL DANGER. 181 

speak of vice, of sin, with deep feelings, and 
who seem to have just views of its nature, ten- 
dency and consequences. They profess to be 
filled with wonder, that so many should go 
carelessly on, while exposed to so great dan- 
gers they point out, and mourn over the nu- 
merous instances of moral degradation and ruin 
which are around them, while yet they are, 
themselves, pressing on in the very courses 
which have brought others to their ruin, re- 
gardless of their danger, or rather cherishing 
the feeling that their moral strength is too 
great to be easily overcome. This feeling 
prevails, in regard to all vices, all sins, but 
that my illustrations may be the more palpa- 
ble, I will select the vice, or sin of intempe- 
rance. How many are there, even now, in 
the community, especially among our young 
men, who will mourn over the evils of intem- 
perance, who speak earnestly in favor of tem- 
perance, who wonder at the extreme folly of 
their fellow men, as they sink slowly down, one 
after another, into the depths of intemperance, 
while yet these very individuals are in the 
daily habit of temperate drinking, as it is call- 

16 



182 TOUNG MAN*S ASSISTANT. 

ed, or indulge themselves in the free use of 
wine, or at least regard it as important, that on 
special occasions, wine should be introduced, 
to increase the enjoyment of the occasion, and 
in some one of these ways, pursuing the very 
course which has conducted their neighbors, at 
whom they are wondering, and over whom 
they are mourning, to the lowest depths of 
loathsome, and disgusting, and revolting intem- 
perance. You may tell them that temperate 
drinking, or the free use of wine, or occasion- 
al social wine drinking, are but the school's of 
intemperance, that the very individuals, over 
whose lost condition they are mourning, and 
at whose folly they are wondering, were once 
as temperate, and as confident of their own 
safety, as they can now be, and they will ac- 
knowledge the truth and force of all that vou 
may say. But if you go one step further and 
attempt to convince them of their own dan- 
ger, they will at once laugh you to scorn. Their 
step is as yet firm and elastic, they have the 
most perfect command of themselves, they 
can exercise their coolest discretion and judg- 
ment in regard to the times of drinking, and 



MORAL DANGER. 183 

the quantity they may take. Nay, more, they 
will go so far as to admit that they are walk- 
ing in a path, where, judging from past expe- 
rience, they have reason to believe, that a 
very large proportion will be ruined, and yet 
they will contend, that they shall surely be 
among the number of those who will escape 
unharmed. And so they press on, vainly re- 
lying upon their own moral strength. They 
press on in perfect confidence as to their own 
safety, until before they are aware of their 
danger, they find themselves so far on the 
downward road to ruin that they cannot re- 
cover themselves. Thousands of young men 
there are, who are cherishing feelings of self- 
dependence, and self-security like these, in re- 
gard to all the various vices and sins to which 
they are exposed. I have selected the evil of 
intemperance, not because it differs from oth- 
ers in the danger itself, but because it is an 
evil in which the whole course is obvious and 
the danger palpable. And now, my young 
friends, look into your hearts, I beseech you, 
and enquire if you are not yourselves at this 
very moment, cherishing a dangerous feeling 



184 young man's assistant. 

of self-security. Examine your conduct, and 
enquire if you are not at this very time, al- 
lowing yourselves in that society, or engaging 
in those practices, or yielding to those indul- 
gences which have been the ruin of others, 
while yet you feel yourselves to be safe. And, 
if so, are you not, I ask, cherishing a danger- 
ous feeling of self security ? Look around 
you. Thousands of the beautiful and the 
fair, of the manly and the promising have fall- 
en, and are falling at your right hand and at 
your left, into the moral ruin of vicious and 
sinful indulgences. They were as well able 
to withstand, as you can be. They felt as 
self confident and as secure as you can feel. 
In the days of their strength, they would have 
laughed at the idea that they were in danger. 
Remember this, and let it impress deeply up- 
on your minds a lesson of wisdom. Cherish 
the feelmg that you too, are exposed to the 
same enemy, before which they have inglori- 
ously fallen, and that you have no security 
but in a deep feeling of your own weakness, 
in watchfulness, vigilance and prayer. 

There is danger, too, in the disposition 



MORAL DANGER. 185 

which some young men manifest to shut their 
eyes to the universally debasing tendency of 
particular sins, and vices. What I mean, is, 
the natural tendency of indulgence in any one 
vice or sin, to harden and corrupt the heart, 
in all its feelings, to debase and degrade the 
character in all its various parts. Here, for 
example, is a young man of the finest feelings, 
of the purest sentiments, of the kindest heart, 
of the tenderest conscience. He is one of the 
most obedient of children, one of the most af- 
fectionate of brothers, one of the most devo- 
ted husbands, one of the most faithful of fa- 
thers, but in an evil hour yields to temptations 
to engage in gambling. As he continues, his 
interest increases until it becomes an all ab- 
sorbing passion. This seems to be but a sin- 
gle fault, and you are, perhaps ready to say, 
that this certainly cannot interfere with the nat- 
ural flow of his affections. But you are mis- 
taken. As he indulges in this one vice, it 
sends its debasing influence over the whole 
man, destroying every thing that is beautiful or 
praiseworthy in character. He loses all the 
natural affections of a child, a brother, a hus- 

16* 



186 young man's assistant. 

band and a father. His natural feelings are 
hardened, his natural affections are deadened, he 
is brutified and degraded in his whole charac- 
ter. Such is the universally debasing tenden- 
cy of this one vice of gaming. This tenden- 
cy is not peculiar to this particular vice. It is 
common to all vicious or sinful indulgences. — ■ 
He who gives himself up to any one sinful or 
vicious indulgence, although he may for a time 
withstand the temptation to others, does yet 
become hardened in all his feelings, and de- 
based in his whole character. Such is the 
spreading nature, and the corrupting influence 
of sin, of vice, that no one can yield to a sin- 
gle sinful or vicious indulgence with any well 
grounded hope that its influence shall not ex- 
tend over the whole character. How many 
are there who look upon sins and vices as 
separate, and not as existing in families and 
classes, who hope to cultivate an acquaintance 
with one without becoming a slave to all oth- 
ers. But how delusive are these hopes. How 
many have been ruined by cherishing them. 
Vicious and sinful indulgence is a stream of 
very rapid descent. If you launch your barque 



MORAL DANGER. 187 

upon this stream you know not how fast, nor 
how far you may be carried. And you are 
deceiving yourselves, if you hope to sail but a 
short distance, and then to resist its downward 
course. Beware then, my young friends, how 
you expose yourselves to danger,Jby disregard- 
ing the universally corrupting tendency of par- 
ticular sins. 

There is danger, great danger arising from 
your undervaluing the means, and the sure 
and effectual, means of preventing your be- 
coming the victims of vice, or of rescuing you 
from its power. And here, 1 feel myself in 
duty bound to urge upon you an attention to 
the subject of religion. I may perhaps be- 
fore closing my letters, speak upon the sub- 
ject more fully than I can now. But I may 
speak of it now and I ought to speak of it in 
this connection as the means provided by God 
for our deliverance from vice, sin and misery. 
God knowing the real nature, the debasing 
tendency and the destructive consequences of 
sin, and being filled with love for his children, 
sent his son, Christ Jesus to save men from 
their sins. That son appeared on earth, la- 



188 young man's assistant. 

bored, suffered and died in the cause of hu- 
man salvation, for the purpose of rescuing men 
from the love, the power and the consequen- 
ces of sin. We have in our hands the records 
of what Jesus did, and of what he taught, of 
his sufferings and of his death. The motives, 
the hopes, the injunctions of the gospel are 
made known to us, and often urged home up- 
on our attention. And yet notwithstanding all 
this there are many who listen to all these 
things, as to a tale that is told, or as to the 
song of one who hath a pleasant voice. They 
lay not these things to heart, they underval- 
ue and disregard and set at naught all that has 
been done for our rescue from the power of 
vice, the consequences of sin. And are not 
all such in danger? You may feel, my young 
friends, that you can rely on your own internal 
energy of character, that you may rely on 
your habits and principles. But I can assure 
you, that valuable and important as all these 
are, there is danger that they will all prove too 
weak unless based upon, and supported by, 
religious principles and considerations. When 
tempted to turn aside from the path of duty, 



MORAL DANGER. 189 

all these considerations which may be sugges- 
ted by past character and past habits and prin- 
ciples, by a regard to reputation or even hap- 
piness, will seem but the cold calculatious of 
prudence, the dictates of mere expediency. — 
The single thought, "I cannot do this, and 
sin against God," will be more powerful than 
them all, to put to flight the temptations that 
may assail, or to send new strength through 
the nerve, and enable you to withstand. Re- 
member I beseech you, that you are always 
exposed to danger, that you are yourselves 
weak and easily overcome, and that your only 
hope of coming off conquerers over your temp- 
tations and dangers, must be upon the depth 
of your feeling of your own weakness, upon 
the strength of your religious principles, and 
upon the carefulness with which you watch, 
and the fervency with which you pray. 

Before I close this letter, I will offer a few 
suggestions on the danger of evil associates, or 
rather upon those principles of our nature 
which render evil associates so dangerous. — 
And I remark, in the first place, that the prin- 
ciple of imitation is implanted in our natures 



190 young man's assistant. 

and exerts a powerful influence in the forma- 
tion of our characters. We are imitative be- 
ings. We are all prone to imitate those with 
whom we associate. You have all, I presume, 
witnessed the effects of this principle in the 
language, the air, the manners and in short in 
the whole appearance and deportment. But 
I would in this place direct yonr attention es- 
pecially to the influence of this principle upon 
the character. We naturally and almost un- 
avoidably, not only acquire a resemblance in 
manners to those with whom we associate, but 
we often become assimilated to them in char- 
acter. Are they possessed of genuine worth, 
persons of sterling integrity? Do they regu- 
late all their conduct by a regard to the pre- 
cepts of virtue and piety? If so, their high 
example will attract our love, and secure our 
admiration, and we shall soon find ourselves 
imitating almost unconsciously the peculiari- 
ties of character which we love and admire, 
we shall find that if we are much in their so- 
ciety, we shall be gradually and almost imper- 
ceptibly becoming assimilated to them. 

On the contrary, are our companions and 



MORAL DANGER. 191 

associates the profane, the dissolute, the prof- 
ligate, we shall soon be infected by the con- 
tagion of their example, we shall soon find our- 
selves becoming like them. Indeed it is a. 
principle of similarity which often lies at the 
foundation of our intimacy. It is often a re- 
semblance either in disposition and character, 
which, without perhaps our being aware of its 
influence over us, regulates our selection of in- 
timate acquaintances. And our intimacy gen- 
erally increases as by constantly associating 
together we become more and more assimila- 
ted to each other. You may say that the in- 
fluence of associates upon each other, is re- 
ciprocal. That instead of being destroyed by 
the vicious examples of others, you may your 
self exert an influence over them for good. — 
This may be so. But it is more than proba- 
ble, that the influence of vicious associates 
will preponderate. The one is struggling to 
ascend, the other throws the weight of his 
influence into the descending scale. It is 
then, more than probable that the influence 
which is downward in its tendency, will over- 
power that which is upward. 



192 young man's assistant. 

Then too, you may each of you have some- 
thing in your very constitutions which is cal- 
culated to render you an easy prey to some 
particular vices. In regard to these vices to 
which you are exposed by your constitution- 
al temperament you should be ever most 
carefully on your guard, striving to avoid by 
all means those companions and associates 
who might lead you into them. 

Then too, the power of this instructive 
propensity to imitate is manifested not mere- 
ly in regard to the sins which most easily be- 
set one, but also in regard to those to which 
one is not by nature inclined. It is often the 
case, that young persons especially acquire 
insensibly, habits of profane swearing, or be- 
come intemperate and licentious, not from 
any strong natural, constitutional bias, but 
simply through the power of this principle 
of imitation, because they have been thought- 
less and inattentive in the selection of their 
associates. Remember then, my young friends 
that you have that within you, that tendency 
to imitation, which will with almost unfailing 
certainty assimilate you in character and feel- 



MORAL DANGER. 193 

ings to those with whom you may associate. 
Remember this, arid let it put you upon your 
guard in your selection of companions. 

Still further, there is another principle which, 
in connection with the last, increases your dan- 
ger. And that is, a desire to render ourselves 
agreeable to those with whom we associate. 
This is one of our natural tendencies. It is 
in itself truly amiable, and highly important. 
But it is a tendency which will expose you to 
peculiar danger,* unless regulated by reason, 
and prudence and religious principle. We 
are told that the fear of man bringeth a snare. 
This is never more true, than when applied to 
the fear we sometimes experience of incur- 
ring the displeasure of our friends and asso- 
ciates. To be firm in our adherence to a 
virtuous course, when, by being so, we shall 
be singular, requires no small share of true 
fortitude, and especially to stand firm, when 
by doing so, we shall incur the displeasure of 
our companions, requires much true christian 
independence. That those who voluntarily 
associate with evil companions, will disregard 
their example, and resist their influence, is 

17 



194 young man's assistant. 

more than we have reason to expect. How 
often do persons yield to indulgences which are 
contrary to their consciences, their reason, 
and even to their inclinations, simply because 
they dread to give offence to their associates. 
To manifest openly and decidedly an abhor- 
rence of practices whieh others, many of them 
persons whom we respect, and all of whom 
are our associates, unhesitatingly practice, re- 
quires more moral courage than most young 
persons poss ss, certainly more than they usu- 
ally manifest, moral courage which those who 
voluntarily associate with the unprincipled and 
profligate will not long retain. This princi- 
ple, then you see, or tendency of your na- 
tures, to seek the approbation of those with 
whom you may associate, may operate to your 
ruin, if you associate with the unprincipled and 
i he profligate; Remember then, my young 
friends, that from the very principles of your 
nature, you cannot become intimate with as- 
sociates without wishing to render yourselves 
agreeable in their eyes, to secure their appro- 
bation, and that this wish, whether you are 
aware of it or not, will exert a powerful, a 



MORAL DANGER. 195 

controlling influence upon your own conduct. 
And, remember too, that you will naturally 
judge of the conduct which is well pleasing to 
your associates, by lookingat their own. Ther.- 
is every reason therefore, to suppose that if 
you select for your associates, those who are 
unprincipled, and of profligate characters, you 
will yourselves fall victims to the same vices 
by which your associates have been enslaved. 

I hardly know, my young friends, where to 
stop, when upon this subject, so great are your 
dangers and so heedless are most young per- 
sons in regard to them. It is dangerous even 
for those advanced to middle age, and who are 
most firmly established in principles of piety 
and habits of virtue, it is dangerous for even 
such to associate freely with the persons of 
corrupt principles and vicious practices. But 
when a young man, one whose principles are 
not firmly established, and whose character is 
not fully formed and established, when such a 
one selects for his companions persons of vi- 
cious principles, of profligate habits and of 
dissolute lives, we not only say that he is in 
great danger., but we feel ourselves authorized 



196 young man's assistant. 

from what we know of human nature to say 
that he will with an almost indubitable certainty 
quickly lose all that instinctive horror and 
dread of vicious actions which is the natural 
guard of innocence, that he will soon be em- 
boldened to yield to the indulgences, or to 
commit the crimes which are familiar with his 
associates. Scenes of profligacy and of vice 
as they become familiar to his mind, will pol- 
lute the heart, corrupt the taste, influence the 
passions and pervert the judgment. Vicious 
habits will be insensibly formed, and will con- 
tinually gather strength, until they draw around 
their victims the strong bonds of moral slavery. 
This we feel authorized to say, will be the 
natural at least, if not the necessary conse- 
quences of selecting the vicious as intimate as- 
sociates and bosom companions. It follows as 
directly and as certainly asunder the more 
obvious and better understood laws of the 
natural world an effect follows its cause. 

But I have said enough. It would be im- 
possible to point out all the sources of danger 
to which you are exposed. I would hope 
that what I have said may be sufficient to 



MORAL DANGER. 197 

awaken you to the truth, that they are ex- 
tremely numerous, that they lie beside all your 
paths and that your only hope is in cherishing 
thoughts of your own weakness, in watchful- 
ness and prayer. 



ir- 



LETTER VIL 

INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 



Introduction — Object to be sought in examining one's 
mental operations. Mode of studying the mind — The 
infant — Instincts which pass away — and instincts which 
become fixed principles of belief. Sensation and 
perception — The nature and the difference of the two. 
The way in which the power of sensation and per- 
ception may be improved, and in which improv ement 
from the right exercise of them may be secured. Con- 
ception — What it is — Habits of accuracy in concep- 
tion, important in acquiring accurate k nowledge of the 
outward world — in enabling us to understand what we 
read — in regard to reasoning and argument — in regard 
to correctness of sentiment — vividness of illustration 
— four rules for acquiring vividness and accuracy of 
conception, given — conclusion. 

Mt Young Friends, 

I am now to speak to you on the subject 
of intellectual self-cultivation. In doing this,, 
I shall endeavor to present for your conside- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 199 

ration some practical sketches from the Phi- 
losophy of the mind. I wish you to direct 
your attention to the examination and analysis 
of your own minds. I wish this, because I 
believe it to be important that you should be- 
come familiar with the mental operations, which 
are going on within you. But a question w r ill 
naturally arise as to the proper way of exam- 
ining and studying your own minds? In an- 
swer to this enquiry, I would say, that your 
object, in watching the operations of your own 
minds, should be, to learn, in the first place, 
what their operations are, and to detect, if pos- 
sible, in the second place, the laws or princi- 
ples by which those operations are regulated, 
or in accordance with which they take place, 
that so, in the third place, you may put forth 
your own after efforts for mental improvement, 
in accordance with these laws or principles.— 
For example, I was once told, by a young la- 
dy, that, after having read over a work upon 
Ancient History twice, so carefully as to take 
notes, she could not remember the various 
events and incidents. Now, suppose that upon 
watching the operations of her memory 



SOO TOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

upon other subjects, even upon her household 
duties, she should find that the memory will 
retain a great variety of particulars, when they 
are connected, in her associations, with some 
one important fact, or event, or operation. — 
Suppose that she calls to mind the fact, that 
the most ordinary memory can retain the thou- 
sand particulars of daily house keeping, simply 
because they are divided into clusters, all con- 
necting themselves with a few important trans- 
actions. Here then she has discovered a prin- 
ciple or law, by which the memory is regula- 
ted and in accordance with which, her own 
may be improved. Now in her futnre efforts, 
she can regulate her course by the knowledge, 
which she has thus acquired. In her future 
reading, she can fix upon a k\v prominent and 
important results and connect the various in- 
cidents and events of history with these. In 
this way she will be able to recollect all these 
various incidents and events, either as the caus- 
es or the consequences of some important re- 
sults, either as leading to, growing out of, 
or flowing from these results. Now this case 
illustrates precisely my views of studying the 



INTELLECTUAL iELF-CULTIVATION. 201 

mind properly, and, of course, profitably. In 
doing this, you perceive there are three distinct 
points to be particularly aimed at. They are 
these. First, you are to watch in order to as- 
certain precisely what the operations of the 
mind are, as distinguished from each other. — 
And this is important, for we often confound 
one operation with another. We see, for ex- 
ample, certain objects or actions, and from what 
we see, we draw certain conclusions. In at- 
tempting to tell what we have seen, we are 
very apt to confound our perceptions with our 
conclusions, and detail the latter as though 
they were the former. So, too, when we 
hear a report, we often mentally explain that 
report, put it into language suited to our own 
mental habits. And then, in telling what 
another person has said to us, we confound 
ihe two operations, and tell what we suppose 
he meant to say. And as we are liable to 
mistakes, we may report something very dif- 
ferent from what was in the mind of the per- 
son, in regard to whom we are making the re- 
port. Remember then, that your first object, 
in studying your own minds, is to ascertain 



202 young man's assistant. 

precisely what the operations of the mind are, 
as distinguished from each other, and that this 
is an important point, in regard to which you 
are constantly exposed to mistake. 

The second point to be aimed at, in thus 
watching the operations of the mind, is to de- 
tect, if possible, the law or principle, in accor- 
dance with which these various operations take 
place. This is an important and somewhat 
difficult point. It is I say important. Take 
the illustration which I have brought forward. 
It is important that the young lady should, not 
only ascertain the fact, that there are some 
things, which she can remember with ease, 
while it is difficult, if not absolutely impossi- 
ble, to remember others, but that she should 
detect, if possible, the reason, why she can re- 
member the one with more ease than the other. 
Because, in this reason, she learns the princi- 
ple or law, in accordance with which the ope- 
rations of the memory take place. Let this 
then, be the second point to be aimed at; to 
detect, if possible, the principle or law in ac- 
cordance with which the mental operations 
take place. The third point is to apply this 



INTELLECTUAL 8ELF-CULT1VATIG3T. §03 

principle to the regulation of future efforts in 
mental cultivation. To return again to the 
same illustration, the young lady, you will per- 
ceive, could not be practically benefitted, by 
simply knowing the reason why she could re- 
member some events much better than others. 
This knowledge is important only because it 
may enable her to pursue her studies and 
efforts at self-improvement with greater suc- 
cess. Would you then pursue the study of 
your own minds in a proper and a profitable 
manner? You will aim at three things. You 
will endeavor, by carefully watching the ope- 
rations of your own minds, to estimate pre- 
cisely what they are, to detect if possible, the 
laws or principles in accordance with which 
they take place, and then you will apply the 
knowledge you may gain in the regulation of 
your efforts after further mental improvement. 
I have thus pointed out the general objects 
to be sought in the examination of your own 
minds, and, in doing this, have suggested the 
proper method to be pursued. Let us now 
look, as far as we may be able, at the mind it- 
self. And, in order to do this, will you bring 



204 young man's assistant. 

up before your mind's eye, an infant as the 
subject of your analysis, and enquire what of 
mind you can discover in that helpless being. 
At the first glance you perceive what may be 
called, for the sake of convenience, native in- 
stincts, which seem to have been given only 
for the guidance of mere infancy, and which 
disappear as the mind opens and expands. — 
For example, the infant is taught by native in- 
stincts, in what way to seek its food. This 
is one of its first efforts. And it does not re- 
quire time nor instruction, to enable it or to 
teach it how to do this. And this instinct, 
which is given to the young of all animals, 
seems to have been given simply for the gui- 
dance of infancy. It passes away and is for- 
gotten, as age icreases and new tastes and new 
capacities, in regard to food, manifest them- 
selves. Instincts given, as it would appear 
only for immediate use, are what you first no- 
tice in children. Soon however, as soon as 
the child begins to take notice, you may per- 
ceive manifestations of other instinctive ten- 
dencies, which, instead of passing away with 
the years of infancy, ripen into fixed principles 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 205 

of belief, in after life. The most prominent 
of these, and the only one I shall here notice, 
is that of an instinctive feeling, that every ef- 
fect must be produced by some cause. I know 
it is sometimes said that all that we , know of 
the relation of cause and effect is learned from 
observation and experience, that we observe 
that what we regard as causes are usually or 
generally followed by other events which we 
regard as effects, that the dropping of a spark 
of fire into a cask of gunpowder is generally 
followed by an explosion, while, if we were to 
drop the same spark into a bank of snow, it 
would as generally be extinguished, and that 
therefore, because we have seen and known 
this we connect them together in our. 
minds as sustaining to each other the relation 
of cause and effect. All this may be true. 
For it relates only to our learning to assign 
particular causes to particular effects. I con- 
tend that there is in every infant, a native in- 
stinctive feeling, that every effect must have 
some cause. It may be only from observa- 
tion, and experience, that we learn to trace 
out the particular causes, which . produce the 

18 



206 young man's assistant. 

particular effects which we may witness. But, 
if you watch the child that has just begun to 
take notice, you will perceive that when a 
noise is made in its hearing, it immediately 
looks around in every direction, in order to 
ascertain from whence the sound came. The 
child may not have learned to use its senses, 
and it may not therefore be capable of detect- 
ing the sound, of ascertaining from whence it 
proceeds. But the very circumstance of its 
looking around, shows that there is an instinc- 
tive feeling that the sound must have been 
produced by something without itself, must 
have had some cause. So in the case sup- 
posed — should the child hear the explosion of 
the cask of gunpowder, he would have an 
instinctive feeling that there must have been 
some cause for the explosion. It might not 
indeed be until after much observation and 
experience, that he w ? ould ascertain the partic- 
ular cause of this particular effect. Still there 
is the native instinctive feeling, that every ef- 
fect must have some cause. This is as natu- 
ral, and as universal, as the instinct which 
prompts to seek for food when hungry. This 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 207 

instinctive feeling, as I should call it, in child- 
hood settles down, as the mind is developed, 
into a fixed principle of belief. We have dis- 
covered then in the infant, instincts given sim- 
ply for the guidance of infancy, and others 
given as the foundation of future principles of 
belief. But in connection with these, our very 
remarks have implied the existence of the 
powers, as they are called, of sensation and 
perception. It is through these sensations and 
perceptions, that we gain a knowledge of out- 
ward things. But it is important to mark the 
distinction between sensation and perception. — 
The brain and the nervous system, (for the 
nerves are but the brain "itself extended over 
the body) the brain and the nervous sys- 
tem, I say, have been called, by some, one 
great sensorial organ, or the organ of sensation. 
These nerves are indeed divided into different 
classes; there are the nerves of saghtirbf taste, 
of smell. When these nerves are affected, 
we experience the particular sensations which 
are called by these different names. But what 
is sensation, and what knowledge does it give 
us ? It is simply a change in the state of a 



208 young man's assistant. 

certain class of nerves. You are placed in a 
parlor, where are some beautiful flowers. You 
smell these flowers, and are able to name them 
from their respective peculiarities of flavor. — 
Here you have been the subject of two opera- 
tions, sensation and perception. Your nerves 
of smell, for example, were peculiarly affected. 
This you felt, this you knew. This is sensa- 
tion — and this is all there is to sensation. Sen- 
sation does not tell you what caused this 
peculiar affection of the nerves of a particular 
organ. True, you do, from this sensation, 
conclude that there is a rose, for example, in 
the room. You say that your senses give you 
this knowledge. But it is not so. Your sense 
of smell has only made you conscious, within 
yourself, of certain states of pleasure or of 
pain, certain changes. r You have learned to 
connect these peculiar states with their respec- 
tive causes. This is perception, and this you 
see is an intellectual operation — the result of 
observation and experience — and in regard to 
which we are liable to deception. 

Some suppose that when we refer the par- 
ticular sensations, which we experience, to 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 209 

outward objects as the cause of them, we do it 
only because we have before observed and 
handled, it may be, similar objects. But this 
I think is a mistake — for I believe that the 
instinctive feeling, of which I have spoken, that 
every effect niust have some cause, leads us to 
refer all our sensations, as effects, to some un- 
known cause, external to the mind. This I 
believe to be natural and instinctive. Then, 
the ascertaining what particular causes produce 
particular effects, what particular objects pro- 
duce particular sensations, is the result of ob- 
servation and experience. And this, the as- 
signing the particular sensations we may expe- 
rience to particular objects, as their cause, is 
perception. The more expert and accurate 
any one becomes in this process, the quicker 
and the more correct are his perceptions. Let 
two persons, for example, enter a flower garden. 
They will both experience the same sensations ; 
they will both smell a variety of different odors. 
The one, who has not been accustomed to the 
garden, and who has not been in the practice of 
tracing these different odors to their respective 
causeSj will only be able to say that he per- 

18* 



210 young man's assistant. 

Reives that there are a great variety of different 
flowers. The other will name over very 
readily all this variety of different flowers,, 
which he perceives by their different odors.-— 
So of taste ; one will name to you every in- 
gredient in a pie or a cake, while another can 
only say that there are a great variety of spices 
and other ingredients. So of hearing; two 
persons are present at a concert. The same 
sounds are heard by both — that is, the same 
sensations are experienced by both. But one, 
from not having cultivated his powers in this 
respect, knows only that there is a variety of 
mingled sounds ; the other, with no better 
natural capacities, for that is the supposition, 
but simply from a greater degree of cultivation 
in this respect, can distinguish and tell the dif- 
ferent voices. 

And now what, you may ask, is the practi- 
cal instruction which you have thus far derived 
in regard to sensation and perception, and what 
hints for personal improvement ? First, you 
have learned that sensation is only a change of 
the nerves. If the body is pricked with a pin, 
pain is felt 5 and this is ail that there is to sen- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 211 

sation. The infant may cry for hours with the 
pain from a pin in its clothes, and yet gain no 
knowledge of the cause of the pain. So with 
older persons, the nerves of smell or of hear- 
ing may experience pleasant or unpleasant 
changes. This is sensation and this, I repeat 
is all there is to sensation. What improve- 
ment may he who is aiming at self-education 
expect to secure in regard to his sensations? 
I answer, that he may cultivate the general 
health of the body. The intenseness of our 
sensations, our susceptibility to them will vary 
with our health. The smell and the hearing 
are often seriously affected, and rendered very 
obtuse by ill health. So the sight is often 
rendered very acute, and even painfully sen- 
sitive by a diseased state of the body. We 
are at times peculiarly susceptible to the sen- 
sations of cold and heat, in consequence of the 
peculiar state of our health. Our first care, 
then, would we have our sensations correct, 
and be guarded against being deceived by them, 
should be, to preserve good bodily health.- 
Would we guard against' being deceived, I say, 
in our sensations. We often are so. An in- 



dividual is sometimes ready to pronounce the 
state of the weather either uncomfortably cold 
or uncomfortably hot, when, in reality, it is 
neither. He may honestly believe what he 
says, but his sensations have deceived him in 
consequence of his peculiar state of health. 
First then, you must in your diet and exer- 
cise cultivate good bodily health. Otherwise, 
even your supposed knowledge of things around 
you may be but a delusion. In the second 
place, whenever you are in a diseased state of 
body, you must make an allowance for the in- 
fluence of disease upon your susceptibility to 
sensations. And, in the third place, you may 
form the habit of attending to these sensations. 
Some people will pass through beautiful scene- 
ry and never know it, while others will drink 
in much pleasure and perhaps derive much 
instruction while passing through the same 
scenes and yet, the sensations of both may 
have been the same, only the one has formed 
the habit of attending to his sensations, while 
the other habitually disregards and neglects 
them. The one perceives things, which the 
other does not, because he attends to the sens- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 213 

ations of which he is the subject, and traces 
them to their causes, while the other neglects 
the whole. You can gain personal improve- 
ment then, in regard to your sensations, in 
three ways.. By seeking carefully good bodily 
health, by -making all proper allowance for the 
influence of disease upon your sensations, and 
by forming the habit of carefully attending to 
all the various sensations of which you may be 
the subject. 

The second step, in becoming acquainted 
with objects around you, is the exercise of 
your native, instinctive feeling, that every ef- 
fect must have some cause, in tracing out your 
sensations to their particular causes. And 
here there is improvement to be sought, in the 
constancy and care with which this instinctive 
feeling is exercised. Some are negligent and 
acquire a habitual negligence in regard to this. 
They hear a sound. It may be the mew of a 
cat or the cry of an infant. They are care- 
less and do not trace their sensation to its 
cause, and can therefore, from the effect of 
this carelessness, hardly distinguish the one 
from the other. Consequently, there is always 



214 young man's assistant. 

great confusion in their perceptions. Their 
perceptions are not clear, and distinct from 
each other, in their own minds. And this 
simply because they have become habitually 
careless in the exercise of their instinctive 
feeling, that every effect must have a cause, 
careless in tracing their particular sensations to 
their appropriate causes. In this step of the 
process of gaining a knowledge of the cut- 
ward world, improvement is to be sought in 
the constancy and care with which you trace 
sensations to their peculiar and appropriate ef- 
fects. 

The third step, in this process of gaining a 
knowledge of the outward world, or rather the 
result of the two previous steps, is perception. 
I say the result of the two previous steps. 
For instance, I pass through a medclow, and 
experience a very peculiar sensation. I stop 
and trace this to its cause, and find that cause 
to be the presence of a peculiar flower. Now 
what have I done? I experience a sensation, 
a change in the state of the nerves of smell. 
I obey the native instinctive feeling that there 
must be a cause for this, and endeavor to 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 215 

trace out that cause, and the result is that 
I perceive the flower, that is 9 I trace the 
peculiar sensation to an object, as its cause, 
as the source whence it originated, which my 
sight tells me is a flower. Perception then, 
is the result or consequence of sensation, the 
knowledge which we gain of outward objects, 
in consequence of the impressions, which 
these objects make upon the senses. This 
is peculiarly an intellectual operation, and one 
in regard to which we are liable to deception. 
I remark still further upon the improve- 
ment of our powers of perception. The fact 
should be deeply impressed upon our minds, 
that these powers are improvable. Let two 
men look upo i a drove of cattle, as they pass. 
One will be able to tell you very nearly how 
much each animal, upon which he may look, 
will weigh, when slaughtered. The other 
will come nowhere near in his estimates. — 
And yet, they both look upon the same cat- 
tle, see the same peculiarities, and, perhaps, 
look with the same degree of intensity. Now 
why does one perceive more than the other? 
You will perhaps tell me that he does not per- 



216 young man's assistant. 

ceive more, that it is only a case of better 
judgment, upon a particular point, and that I 
have introduced an inappropriate illustration. 
I admit that it is a case of improved judgment. 
But T contend that it is judgment connected 
with the powers of perception, which is im- 
proved. The case is, that the one who forms 
a correct estimate, does it, not by guess, not 
by judgment, resting on no basis. He sees 
certain points, these points his past experi- 
ence has taught him are indications of the con- 
dition and weight of the animal. That is, he 
sees, or perceives certain peculiarities; in 
seeking for the cause of these peculiarities, 
he has, by his observation, learned that it is 
the peculiar condition of the animal. Thus, 
his conclusions in regard to the weight, are 
so nearly connected with his perceptions 
that they seem to constitute a part of the im- 
provement, of which the powers of percep- 
tion are susceptible. At least whatever may 
be your theory upon the subject, you will ad- 
mit that it is improvement which is impor- 
tant. For the other person may see, and no- 
tice, and speak about these same peculiari- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 211 

ties, and yet not draw any correct conclu- 
sions from them. But I may take a more 
obvious case of the actual improvement of 
the powers of perception. Two persons 
look upon a painting. The picture of the 
whole is painted upon the retina of the eye, 
of the one as well as upon that of the other. 
But the person who is accustomed to paint- 
ings and is fond of them, will perceive a great 
many more minute, but important points, in 
the picture, than will the other. The one 
will notice only the striking and prominent 
points, while the other will notice the whole. 
The latter then, will actually see more than 
the former, simply because he has cultivated 
the power of perception, in relation to these 
particular objects. 

Let then the truth be distinctly impressed 
upon your minds, I repeat that the powers of 
perception may be improved, or rather, that 
a man may so learn to use his powers of per- 
ception, as to become acquainted, through 
their means, with much more than, without 
cultivation, he would have been, And now, 
how are we to improve these powers? In 

19 



218 young man's assistant. 

the first place, we must pay attention to the 
objects of our senses. Why is it that one sees 
more particulais in a landscape than another? 
The same scene is presented to the eye of 
both, the same picture is upon the retina of 
the eye of both. But the one pays attention 
to the different separate objects included in 
the group. We have the power when a col- 
lection of sounds strike upon the ear, or a 
group of objects is presented to the eye, of 
singling out any one of these sounds or ob- 
jects, and dwelling upon it for the time to 
the exclusion of others. The musician can, 
amidst a great variety of sounds, follow a 
particular part. So one can dwell upon a 
particular point, or feature in a picture, to the 
neglect of the rest. But if, by the exercise 
of attention, we can single out any one sound 
or object and dwell upon it, then we can fol- 
low this process through a great variety of 
separate objects, directing the attention to 
them, one by one. In this particular, there 
is much difference in the characters of indi- 
viduals. Some will look upon a picture or a 
landscape, and pronounce in general terms 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 219 

that it is beautiful, but can, after all, give no 
account of the particulars, of which the beau- 
tiful group was composed. Another will de- 
scribe accurately all the various particulars, 
point out all the peculiar beauties and excel- 
lences. And he will acquire such a facility 
in doing this, as to pronounce, at once, upon 
the first view or perception of an object. 
How is this power or facility acquired? I 
have said, by directing the attention to tne 
various particulars, one by one. Take a 
child before it is acquainted with the Alphe- 
bet, and learn it to read pictures, that is to 
point out all the parts of a picture and to tell 
what each individual in the group, whether 
man or animal is doins;. In this wav I have 
seen even a young child, make a picture book 
quite a study. You may go further and ac- 
custom the child to compare one picture 
with another, one horse or dog witii another, 
and to point out why one animal, flower or 
tree is beautiful, and why another is not. — 
In this way, you form the habit of acquiring 
clear, distinct and accurate perceptions. And 
not only so, these perceptions become fixed 



220 young man's assistant. 

in the mind, so that the child can think of 
them and see them with the mind's eye when 
away from them. I have been pleased with 
the course pursued by some teachers of 
writing. They first, before children are old 
enough to begin to write, write themselves on 
the blackboard, making some letters properly, 
and some incorrectly, and then they exercise 
the children in telling which are right and 
which wrong, what constitutes the correct- 
ness of ihe one and the incorrectness of the 
other. In this way the children form the 
habit of particuliarity and accuracy in per- 
ceptions, acquire clear ideas of what the forms 
of letters should be, and know, when they 
begin to write, what they wish to make. I 
have here referred only to the improvement 
of the perceptive powers of children. But 
we can, each of us, at any age, improve our 
perceptive powers. I once visited the exhi- 
bition of paintings at the Athenaeum in Boston. 
I procured a season ticket when I first went 
in, and gazed around upon the whole, thought 
it was all very well, but was not particularly 
struck, saw nothing very beautiful or very 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 221 

wonderful. But I took opportunities, when 
the hall was emptied, at the dinner hours, to 
spend two hours a day, two or three times a 
week there. \ pursued the course I have 
suggested for the improvement of children, 
that is, I studied each painting, examined all 
the various objects, inquired into all the vari- 
ous beauties or defects, compared one with 
another. And what was the consequence? 
The hall soon became to me the source of 
great pleasure. The exhibition increased in 
interest at every new examination. And I 
acquired to a slight degree, a new taste, a 
new power, a new susceptibility to happiness. 
Now what is the instruction of a case like this? 
what was done, and what must be done in or- 
der to improve our perceptive powers? First, 
there must be the fixing of the attention upon 
each particular in any object of perception. 
Then follows the enquiry as to the correct- 
ness or incorrectness, the beauty or deformity 
of each part, and the reasons of the one 
feature or the other. Then this must be im- 
pressed upon the mind, so that a clear and 
distinct idea can be carried away. I have 

19* 



£22 young man's assistant. 

illustrated by a reference to objects of sight, 
I will give one more illustration from 
sound. It is possible to improve our pow- 
ers of perception in this respect, to acquire 
a susceptibility to music, not originally pos- 
sessed. Take a person who has no ear for 
music, who knows not one tune from another, 
not even one note from another. By this, it 
is not meant that he does not feel and per- 
ceive the difference between a high note and 
a low one, between a spirit-stirring martial air, 
and a plaintive tune. But he does not know 
the names appropriated to the one and 
the other. He may not, at those points 
where they run into each other, be able to 
distinguish accurately the one from the other. 
But, let him pursue the course I have point- 
ed out, in regard to paintings, fix his atten- 
tion upon the different notes and tunes, as 
they succeed each other, watch their adapta- 
tion to the sentiment they are intended to 
convey, and compare one with another. Let 
him do this, and he will soon find himself be- 
coming deeply interested. Although not 
naturally a musician, he will take pleasure in 
music, He may not be able to use the tech- 



-^i.ECToAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 223 

nical terms and phrases, he may not be able 
to mark and carry in his mind all the peculi- 
arities of particular tunes. But he will have 
so improved his powers of perception in re- 
gard to sound, that music will have charms 
for his soul. And, while doing this, he will 
have acquired also the power of judging in 
regard to the modulation of the voice, in 
speaking, and he may even go further and 
connect with this the right management of his 
own voice. I have thus, my young friends, 
pointed out the way of improving our per- 
ceptive powers. And that is by directing 
the attention to the various sensations of 
which we may be the subjects, and by study- 
ing and examining these separately and com- 
paring them, one with another. 

I have thus, my young friends, directed 
your attention to the subjects of sensation and 
perception. 

In other words, to the means and powers 
of acquiring a knowledge of the outward 
world. I have pointed out some modes of 
improving these powers, and of gathering 
improvement from the exercise of them. — • 



24 toung man's assistant. 

That is, I have directed your attention to the 
formation of correct habits of observation. 
My object has been, to urge upon you the 
importance, and to point out to you the way, 
of acquiring habits of particularity and accu- 
racy, in your observation of outward objects. 
I suspect that you would be surprised at the 
vagueness and indistinctness of your ideas 
of outward objects, even of the objects most 
familiar to you, which are directly around 
you, or lie by the side of your path, and 
which you every day notice. I well recol- 
lect, that, as one of our exercises, while ac- 
quiring an education, we were called upon 
to define or describe some of the most com- 
mon objects around us. We were to de- 
scribe them accurately, so that any one, from 
reading our description, would know the ob- 
ject, as soon as he might meet with it, although 
he might never have seen it before. We were 
required to give such a description, also, that 
the object might be distinguished, by the de- 
scription, from other objects neaily resem- 
bling it. And I well remember too, how 
much we all failed in our attempts at first. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 225 

How vague and general and inaccurate were 
our descriptions. And I presume that if any 
one of my readers were now to make a simi- 
lar attempt, you would be surprised at your 
failure, at your vagueness and inaccuracy. 
And, in order to perfect your habits of obser- 
vation, and the accuracy of your knowledge 
of the outward world, I would suggest the 
importance of occasional exercises of this 
kind, describing the various objects with which 
you are familiar. Almost every young man 
amongst us, will find occasional leisure mo- 
ments, which might be employed, and that 
right profitably, in exercises of this kind. — 
Tnere are many times a ^ew unoccupied mo- 
ments, when you would not think of enga- 
ging in any important effort of writing, or even 
of reading, when you could make out short 
descriptions of different objects, or differ- 
ent scenes, with which you are familiar, striv- 
ing to make the description particular, accu- 
rate and discriminating. 

In attempting to do this, to describe accu- 
rately the things you have seen, you will find 
another mental power brought into operation^ 



226 young man's assistant. 

called, by writers upon the subject the pow- 
er of conception. By the term conception 
is meant the power or faculty of bringing up 
distinctly and vividly before the mind's eye, 
objects which have been witnessed by the 
bodily eye. 

An individual undertakes to paint a por- 
trait of a deceased friend. While doing this, 
the appearance of that friend, in all his pecu- 
liar features, is as distinctly before the mind's 
eye, as ever the friend himself was before the 
bodily eye. You may perhaps have passed 
up through the Notch of the White Hills. 
Suppose that you were at this time to lay aside 
the book and after a lapse of many months, 
perhaps even of years, attempt to describe 
the appearance of the scene. Would not 
the whole stand out before your mind's eye, 
with all the vividness and distinctness, with 
which the scene itself did originally before 
your bodily eye? This is what we mean by 
conception. You may call it a distinct pow- 
er, or a peculiar state of activity in any or in 
all the organs. Still, here is the fact, and the 
calling this fact by one name or another, the 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 227 

accounting for it in one way or in its oppo- 
site, will not effect the fact itself, nor the 
practical instruction to be derived from it. 
This power of conception is not a power, 
called into exercise wholly by, nor confined 
in its operations entirely to the objects around 
us. Still, it is a power, the right cultivation 
and improvement of which, is of so much 
importance to the perfection of our knowl- 
edge oT the outward world, that I may be 
justified in dwelling upon it here. 

The power of conception is now the sub- 
ject of notice. I have pointed out what it 
is. The bringing up before the mind's eye 
scenes or events, with all the same vividness 
and distinctness, with which they were once 
presented to the bodily senses. 

I have said that the power of conception 
is very important, in regard to our knowl- 
edge of the outward world. Suppose you 
visit the White Mountains and view the beau- 
tiful scenery which is there. You derive 
pleasure from the sight. But you wish to 
bring away some idea of the place, for fu- 
ture use and enjoyment. This you can do 



228 

only by forming distinct conceptions of the 
place. You cannot, when away, recall the 
place itself before your bodily eye. But, if you 
have a clear and distinct idea of the place, or, 
what is the same thing, if you have a clear 
and distinct conception, or picture of the 
place, this picture you can call up before the 
mind's eye. So after you have attended a 
concert, you can never recall the sounds, 
that is, you can never, by an act of the mem- 
ory, make the sounds actually strike upon 
the ear, so as to renew the sensation and 
perception. But you may form such a con- 
ception of the sounds, as to recall and en- 
joy them long after the time of the concert. 
Have you taken the tour of our own country, 
visited the falls of Niagara at the north, the 
great waters of the west, or the sunny climes 
of the south? And what of all this, have 
you brought back? Nothing but the con- 
ceptions you have formed. If you have 
formed clear and distinct conceptions, you 
have your mind stored with pictures, which 
you can call up for future use or pleasure. 
The forming of distinct and vivid concep- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 229 

tions of outward objects, is the last step in 
our knowledge of the outward world. Here 
we are placed among a thousand objects. 
They strike our senses, so to speak, and pro- 
duce sensations. This is the first step. We 
trace these sensations to their causes, and 
perceive the several objects which produce 
them. Then we form within ourselves clear 
and distinct conceptions of these objects of 
perception. And now we have something 
which we can carry away with us, which we 
can recall, and use for our improvement. It 
is our intellectual property. 

It is important that you cultivate habits of 
distinct, vivid and accurate conception. Let 
us look, for a moment, at some of the ad- 
vantages resulting from such a habit. Have 
you not noticed a great difference in the con- 
versation of different men in regard to the 
same scenes and events. Two men shall 
take the tour of Europe. One will bring 
back only general, vague and confused ac- 
counts of what he has seen. The other will 
entertain you, for the hour together, by an 
animated and lively description of the vari- 

20 



230 young man's assistant. 

ous places he had visited. And now why this 
difference? It may be owing in part to a dif- 
ference in habits of observation. For there 
can be no accurate conception of objects and 
scenes, unless there is first accuracy in observ- 
ing these objects and scenes. But there may 
be accuracy of observation, while there is a 
want of accuracy in conception. I think we 
all experience something of this. When we 
enter a cabinet of minerals, we may examine 
a great variety of specimens, and may exam- 
ine them carefully, but, by not pausing, after 
the examination of each specimen, and think- 
ing over or repeating over mentally the pecu- 
liar features by which it is distinguished, we 
may find that the result of our examination of 
the whole:, is but vague and confused, that, al- 
though we examined carefully, we have no 
clear conceptions of the different objects which 
we have examined. So we may enter a de- 
bating club, and listen attentively to a succes- 
sion of different speakers. But, by neglect- 
ing to pause, at the close of each one's re- 
marks, and repeat over mentally the sum of 
his arguments, we shall find that our concep- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 231 

tions of the various parts are confounded with 
each other, and our recollection of the whole 
is confused and indistinct. So with the travel- 
ler, he may have examined care full) the vari- 
ous scenes he has visited. But, being filled 
with wonder, or being hurried on from one 
scfme to another, he may neglect to form clear 
ideas of each separate scene, and consequently, 
the result is a vague and confused notion of 
the whole. This may be illustrated in still 
another way. Two travellers visit the same 
scenes, and one records upon the spot the 
peculiarities of each scene. The other leaves 
this record of his impressions to be made out 
at some future leisure moment. But what 
will be the consequence of these two different 
courses. Will not the one have clear and ac- 
curate notes of his travel* •while the other has 
only vague and indistinct recollections. So 
one may pause, at each scene, and dwell up- 
on it in thought, repeat over mentally the vari- 
ous impressions which are made upon him. 
The other may leave the exercise until a leis- 
ure and convenient time. And what will be 
the consequence? The one will have distinct 



232 young man's assistant. 

and vivid conceptions, the other vague and 
confused notions. And the marked difference 
will be manifest in all their descriptions wheth- 
er given verbally or in writing. Now, my 
young friends, the person who is aiming at self- 
education, will desire improvement in every 
thing, which can contribute to his own happi- 
ness, or to the happiness of others. And 
must not the vividness and distinctness of our 
conceptions contribute to our own happiness? 
Must not the traveller revisit, in thought the 
places over which he has passed, with more 
pleasure, provided his conceptions of them be 
distinct and vivid, than he could if all was in- 
distinct and confused? And we all know that 
he who can give a lively and animated de- 
scription of the places he has visited, and of 
the scenes which hethas witnessed, has, at his 
command, powerful means of conferring hap- 
piness on those with whom he may associate. 
You perceive the importance of clear, accurate 
and vivid conceptions, as lying at the founda- 
tion of the talent for lively description. 

The habit of vividness and accuracy in our 
conceptions is of vast importance, in enabling 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 233 

us to understand readily what we read. If, 
for example, you have formed these habits, if 
you are careful to form accurate conceptions of 
the objects and scenes around you, and can de- 
scribe these objects and scenes in a lively and 
animated manner, then you can enter into a 
lively and animated description, when given 
by another. The words, which you would 
have yourself used, to convey distinct; nd viv- 
id conceptions, will call up in your mind ideas 
and conceptions, of corresponding vividness 
and distinctness when used by another. If 
you have been an accurate observer of nature, 
you will find that well written descriptions of 
natural scenery will call up in your mind viv- 
id ideas. But if you have not been careful iri 
your observance of nature, these descriptions 
will be to you, dull and uninteresting. So if, 
after having observed carefully the objects of 
nature, you neglect to form distinct concep- 
tions of them, the effect will be the same. — 
These descriptions will be dry and uninterest- 
ing. Says a writer upon this subject, Rev. 
Jacob Abbot, "Both the enjoyment and the 
improvement, which is derived from readings 



234 youn@ man's assistant. 

depend very much on this habit." One per- 
son will read a narrative, such an one for in- 
stance, as the story of Robinson Crusoe, and 
the mental pictures, which the descriptions 
bring up in his mind are cold and meagre and 
barren. Nothing comes to view, which is not 
expressly described and even that is very faint- 
ly and confusedly sketched by the mind. In 
the case of another individual, all is clear and 
distinct. The slight sketch, which the de- 
scription gives, is rilled up by the imagination, 
drawn from the stores of distinct and vivid 
conception. So that, while the printed words, 
which meet the eye in both cases, are the 
same, the real scenes, to which they introduce 
the reader are entirely dissimilar. This is one 
great cause of the differences of opinion, about 
the interest excited by a story. One reader 
praises and another condemns. They speak 
of the book. But the real object of the cen- 
sure and of the praise is, on the one hand, the 
meagre conceptions of one who has not sought 
for habits of accuracy and vividness of concep- 
tion, and on the other the glowing pictures, 
which are formed by more cultivated powers 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 235 

of conception. And the habit of forming dis- 
tinct and vivid conceptions, will not only in- 
crease the interest with which we read, but 
it will cause what we read to be much more 
strongly impressed upon the memory. 

But this habit, when once formed, extends 
not merely to outward objects, not merely to 
passages, of descriptive writing. It extends to 
every thing, which can be the object of thought. 
It is therefore of great advantage even in rea- 
soning and argument. You sometimes hear 
a man, in debate, arguing feebly. His pre- 
mises are not set forth in the most distinct and 
prominent manner, and perhaps he forgets to 
draw his inferences, or draws them from wrong 
points in his premises. Why is this? You 
may say, from a want of discrimination. But 
from what does this want of discrimination arise? 
Is it not often, from the want of distinct and 
clear conceptions? If the premises of an ar- 
gument do not standout distinctly to our mind's 
eye, in all their fulness, reality and distinctness 
we cannot discriminate between the circum- 
stances which are important and those which 
are unimportant, and, consequently, it is often 



§36 young man's assistant. 

the case, that feeble reasoning proceeds in part 
from indistinct conceptions. We all know too, 
how much an argument is often aided by apt 
and familiar illustrations. An illustration is 
not a proof, but it is often the case, that a good 
illustration makes the proof more distinctly 
visible and more deeply felt. And we know 
too, that busied as men are with the outward 
and the visible, whatever is set forth, in the ab- 
stract, loses half of its power, unless rendered 
clear by appropriate illustrations. And we see 
a great difference in different writers in this re- 
spect. While some deal in mere abstract and 
general propositions, others impart to these 
propositions, by their own powers of accurate 
observation and, conception, a living reality and 
clothe them with breathing and animated beau- 
ty. But, as particularity and accuracy of 
observation are necessary, so particularity 
and accuracy of conceptions, are necessary to 
this power of illustration. I presume that in 
the religious community, there are few wri- 
tings, which have been more generally and ex- 
tensively popular, than the writings of the 
Messrs Abbots. But what gives them this 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 237 

popularity? It is not that there is any thing 
very original or profound in the works them- 
selves. It is not that they contain more or 
better thoughts than the writings of others. 
Why then is it? It is because they contain 
familiar, and, in many cases, highly appropri- 
ate illustrations of truths, which had before 
been regarded as peculiarly abstruse and diffi- 
cult of comprehension. And yet, I have 
heard these books complained of, on account 
of their style. Says one, I can at once form 
a distinct conception of the truth or position 
he wishes to establish, and I dislike to spend 
too much time in reading the illustration of a 
truth, of which I have already a distinct con- 
ception. But such a remark you perceive 
must proceed from one who has cultivated dis- 
tinctness and accuracy of conception. And 
the reason why they are so generally inter- 
esting is, because the greater portion of men 
have not cultivated this power of conception, 
and, wish, therefore, to have all the truths and 
propositions illustrated by pictures, that shall 
stand out to the mind's eye, in distinctness. 
But where did the Messrs Abbots acquire the 



233 young man's assistant. 

power of lively and animated illustration? Was 
it not first, from habits of accuracy in observa- 
tion? Was it not in the second place, from 
habits of accuracy in conception? This habit 
of painting vividly, before the mind's eye, 
scenes, objects and events which are absent, 
is of great importance in reasoning and argu- 
ment and in the illustration of abstract truth. 

Once more, this habit is of great importance 
in the study of human nature, of mankind. — 
How often do we hear it said of a fellow man, 
he is an exceedingly amiable man, a man of 
talents and learning:, but he has no knowledge 
of human nature, no knowledge of men. And 
this want of a knowledge of human nature 
renders ail his knowledge and talents and learn- 
ing useless. And it often happens too, that 
this want of a knowledge of human nature, 
does not arise from not having mingled much 
in society; I have seen it as strongly indicated 
in the characters of those who have been al- 
ways in society, as in those who have lived in 
solitude. It arises from want of habits of ac- 
curacy, in observation, and from want of hab- 
its of distinctness and vividness in conception. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 239 

Some men will spend an hour in the company 
of another, and when they are alone they will 
think over all that was said, and, in this way, 
they will form a distinct conception of the 
character, and ever afterwards they know how 
to meet and how to treat such a man. Others 
might spend the same time, and although they 
might perceive the peculiarities of the man, 
yet they form no conceptions of him, because 
they do not think of him as absent, and think- 
ing of him as absent, form clear and distinct 
conceptions of these peculiarities of character, 
they do not fix in their own minds clear ideas 
of his feelings, principles, and general conduct, 
so as to draw a correct conclusion as to the way 
in which he is to be met. It is then the ex- 
ercise of this same power of conception, which 
enables one to acquire, in his intercourse with 
the world, a clear and distinct knowledge of 
human nature, not only of the general charac- 
teristics of men, but of the peculiarities of 
each particular man. And it is the neglect of 
this same exercise, which prevents another 
from acquiring, from the same intercourse with 
the world, the same knowledge. 



240 young man's assistant. 

I have thus pointed out, at some length, 
some of the various advantages of habits of 
accuracy and distinctness in conception. I 
have wished to awaken in every one a deter- 
mination, which will lead him to strive after 
self-improvement in this particular. How then 
are we to seek improvement. My first an- 
swer has been hinted at in what I have already 
said. When you have noticed a peculiar ob- 
ject or scene, pause, shut the object or scene 
from your bodily eye, and think over, mental- 
ly, to yourself, all its peculiarities. The ob- 
ject or scene then becomes to you an object 
of conception, instead of an object of percep- 
tion. It is transferred from the perception of 
the bodily senses, to the possession of the 
mind, as its own property, to be retained and 
used as occasion may require. I recollect that 
when engaged in teaching, i had one pupil, 
who excelled all others for his readiness and 
accuracy in memory. If when reciting his 
Latin, I stated for further use, a new rule, I 
found that one single statement of the rule 
would be su£5cient for him, while to the oth- 
ers, I must state the same, day after day, be- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 241 

fore they could repeat it themselves familiarly 
and accurately. As he was, in other respects, 
very much lik^e other boys, I became extreme- 
ly anxious to know the cause of his peculiarity 
in this particular. I watched and found that, 
when I mentioned a new rule, instead of hear- 
ing it and then dismissing it from his mind, 
he dwelt upon it, and by repeating over 
mentally to himself, what I had said, fixed it 
in his own mind at the time, then and eter af- 
ter to be his own property. He made it his 
own mental possession. Now if, after visiting 
any scene, we could thus pause and mentally 
repeat to ourselves its peculiar features, then 
might we have the mental picture of the scene, 
distinctly before the mind's eye to be stored 
away. But this, you will say, we have not 
time to do. Being called to devote our atten- 
tion to business, you cannot make your own 
mental improvement the principal object of ef- 
fort. 

This may be so, and I would therefore, re- 
commend another practice as a substitute. 
In a work upon the study and practice of the 
law, I find the following direction given as an 

21 



§42 young man's assistant. 

aid in the cultivation of the memory. I would 
bring it forward in this place, as having an im- 
portant bearing upon the subject upon which 
I am now speaking. "Suppose," says the 
author, "you have been in several places, and 
conversed with several persons, in the course 
of the day. It will be a good practice, to re- 
call at night, with minuteness, not only the 
names of these places and persons, and the 
occa?ft)ns that induced these events, but the 
subjects of conversations, in which you may 
have engaged, together with the various opin- 
ions, both of, yourself and of others, upon these 
subjects, even in the very words, or as nearly 
as possible." Now what is accomplished by 
this practice? Is it not precisely what I have 
been recommending, the formation of a habit 
of readily securing mental pictures, of all 
that has passed before you, and of fixing them 
in the mind, as its own property, in other 
words the forming of habits of particularity and 
accuracy in your conceptions of what may 
be presented to your senses. 1 would then 
recommend this practice as a substitute for the 
former. For, if you cannot turn aside from 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 243 

your business, to dwell upon particular scenes 
and events, you can at least, devote a few mo- 
ments, each night, to thus bringing up before 
you, mental pictures of whatever has passed 
during the day. And a few weeks practice 
will give you great readiness and accuracy in 
this. I would repeat, as my third answer, a 
suggestion which I have already made, the im- 
portance of writing, from time to time, de- 
scriptions of objects of natural scenery, or 
events with which you are familiar. And, in 
describing objects of natural scenery, it would 
be a good practice to test the distinctness and 
accuracy of your description, by an attempt to 
draw, with the pencil, the outlines of the ob- 
ject described, simply from the description giv- 
en. Try, for example, to describe in writing 
a particular place you have visited, so that a 
painter might make out aii accurate represen- 
tation of the place, solely from your descrip- 
tion. This exercise may occasionally aid you 
in your efforts after the habits I am recommend- 
ing. 

Another answer, which I would give is, that, 
in reading, you should occasionally pause and 



244 young man's assistant. 

make an effort to paint distinctly to the mind, 
the scenes described by your author. Think 
of it as a reality, and dwell upon it, until you 
have completed it in its details and made all 
its parts consistent with one another, and with 
the whole. Practice of this kind will soon 
lead to decided improvement. This may be 
done simply for the purpose of increasing our 
enjoyment of what we read. But it will great- 
ly increase our store of mental treasures, our 
store of mental pictures. Mr. Abbot, in his 
"Young Christian," recommends this practice 
in the reading of the scriptures. And it is a 
most important recommendation. Suppose 
you read the account of the raising of Laz- 
arus instead of passing hastily over it, pause 
and picture the whole scene to your mind's eye, 
bring up Mary and Martha, their Jewish 
friends, the eager hastt with which Martha runs, 
the group around the grave, the solemn atti- 
tude and accents of prayer, the lifting of the 
stone, the mingled pleasure and astonishment 
of the sisters, as the form of Lazarus, in his 
grave clothes, rises before them, if, in this 
way, you will picture out the various scenes 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 245 

described, you will render the book itself doub- 
ly interesting, you will gain a clearer idea of 
the true spirit of our Saviour's teaching, as il- 
lustrated by the circumstances in which he 
was placed, and you will be strengthening this 
habit of clearness and accuracy of conception. 
And this book which is in the hands of most, 
is, perhaps as well calculated to aid us in the 
formation of this habit as any that we could 
read. 

I have in this letter, my young friends, di- 
rected your attention to what I regard as im- 
portant steps in self-cultivation. I would hope 
that you will carefully weigh the suggestions I 
have offered. 



%t* 



LETTER VIII. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 

Subject stated — Abstraction — The term defined and illus* 
trated — The natural exercise of this power depending 
upon the peculiar tastes and habits of the individual — 
Its exercise may be improved and rendered more di- 
rectly subject to the will by mental cultivation — It is 
employed in classification and generalization — These 
illustrated by quotations from Abbott's Abercrombie — 
The application of these powers to individual improve- 
ment — in the study of natural objects — in reading Fa- 
bles — in reading Biography — in reading History — The 
best mode of strengthening and improving this power — 
illustrated by reference to reading and examining a book 
in all its various particulars separately — This power 
improved by dwelling upon some one characteristic 
while reading Biography, and following it out into all 
the various particulars of life — Conclusion. 

My Young Friends, 

I have spoken, in my last letter, of some 
of the powers of the mind employed in gain- 
ing a knowledge of the outward world, and of 
the ways, in which they may be improved, 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 247 

and in which improvement may be gained by 
the proper exercise of them. There is anoth- 
er mental power, which is of great importance 
in the same connection. It is called ab- 
straction, by writers on Mental Philosophy. 
It is the power, which the mind possesses, of 
directing the attention to some one quality of 
an object, to the neglect of other and equally 
obvious qualities. You are presented, for ex- 
ample, with a flower, beautiful in color, and 
agreeable in odour. Here are two obvious and 
striking qualities of the flower presented, 
through your senses, to the mind. The one 
is equally obvious with the other. But just at 
this time, you are engaged in painting, and 
especially in painting flowers. This circum- 
stance causes that the appearance, the form 
and the color of the flower, should attract 
more particular attention. You may desire to 
copy the flower in your paintings, and, conse- 
quently, you may observe very carefully, and 
examine very accurately all its peculiarities of 
form and color, without noticing its peculiarities 
oi odour. In doing this, you have been 
exercising the power of abstraction. That 



248 young man's assistant, 

is, you have withdrawn your attention, almost 
entirely, from one obvious quality of the flower, 
and confined it to another equally, but no more 
obvious quality. It may be, that another per- 
son, looking upon the same flower, would find 
the attention directed principally to the odor, 
and would exercise the same power of abstrac- 
tion in attending to that, to the neglect of the 
form and color. In these cases the attention 
seems to be fastened upon particular qualities, 
not so much from a direct effort of the will as 
from the peculiar taste, circumstances or occu- 
pation of the individual. Kor is there any 
effort to exclude attention to other qualities. 
They naturally lose their hold upon the mind 
and gradually disappear, when the thoughts 
are directed strongly and earnestly to some 
one point or quality. We see instances in 
proof of this almost every day of our lives. 
Suppose that several individuals take a walk 
out upon a commanding eminence, on some 
bright and beautiful summer evening, in order 
that from such an eminence, they may watch 
the setting sun. They all gaze upon the same 
object, the same scene. But their attention 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 249 

is directed to different particulars, in that scene, 
and their thoughts and emotions are widely 
different, in accordance with their different 
states of mind. They have all, naturally and 
perhaps without being themselves aware of it, 
exercised the power of abstraction. That is, 
each individual has directed his attention to 
some particulars or to some qualities in the 
scene to the neglect of others. And the par- 
ticulars or qualities, to which the attention of 
each individual has been directed, have been 
determined by the previous states of their 
minds. Nor has any individual made any ef- 
fort to shut out other qualities from the atten- 
tion. They have naturally disappeared. This 
supposed case may be regarded as illustrating 
that degree of abstraction, which is natural, 
and the peculiar character of which is deter- 
mined by each one's peculiar tastes, and men- 
tal development, or by his peculiar studies and 
occupations. 

But there is another manifestation of this 
same power, which is the result of effort and 
cultivation, and is, to a degree, under the con- 
trol of the will. 1 may read a book, for exam- 



250 young man's assistant. 

pie, with a determination, formed before read- 
ing, to direct my attention to some one par- 
ticular quality of the book, to the neglect of 
other equally obvious qualities. I may deter- 
mine that I will read the book, with reference 
alone to its style, to the neglect of the ques- 
tion whether the sentiments and opinions ad- 
vanced be correct or not. And I may be 
pleased with the style, although perhaps the 
sentiments may be opposed to my own. This 
is the exercise of abstraction, and it is put 
forth, at the direct control of the will. I sit 
down, with the determination to attend to one 
particular quality, to the neglect of others ; 
and I attend to this quality, because I had 
previously determined that I would do so. — 
I have said that this degree of the power de- 
pends upon efforts to cultivation. You find 
that children, when new objects are presented, 
seem to look in wonder and admiration. But 
their thoughts are directed to no one point ; 
their attention passes rapidly from one point 
or one peculiarity to another. But mental 
cultivation, an attention to study, and the con- 
fining the thoughts for some time to one sub- 
ject, have an effect to give this power. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 251 

I have thus pointed out what we are to un- 
derstand by abstraction, in its natural and in 
its cultivated and improved state. It is the 
power of attending to some one quality in an 
object, to the neglect of other equally obvious 
qualities. You will perceive, from what has 
been said, that there is a natural capacity for 
this. I do not mean a distinct and separate 
mental faculty, but I mean that man has natu- 
rally, to a certain degree, that power of self- 
government by which he is enabled to exercise 
abstraction. But you will have perceived 
also, from what has been said, that the per- 
fection of this power depends much upon 
self-cultivation and mental habits. 

This power of the mind is one, the right 
cultivation of which, is of great practical im- 
portance, not merely to scholars a id men of 
learning but to every man in all the ordinary 
circumstances and occupations of life. It is 
employed in the classification of objects, or 
of the various particulars of our knowledge 
and in that way is of great assistance to the 
memory. It is employed in what may be 
called generalization or the gathering up of 



252 young man's assistant, 

general truths from the observation of partic- 
ular facts. By classification I mean the ar- 
ranging various objects under one general 
class, according to their resemblance in some 
one particular quality. Our promptness and 
accuracy in doing this, depends upon the de- 
gree to which the power of abstraction is 
cultivated. Because we cannot classify ob~, 
jects according to their resemblance in some 
one particular, without exercising the power 
of abstraction in attending to that particular 
in all the various objects classed together, to 
the neglect of other equally obvious qualities 
in regard to which they may differ from each 
other. "This process of classification is of 
so great practical importance that it deserves 
to be carefully considered" and clearly illus- 
trated. U A person has made a large collec- 
tion of sea shells which lie promiscuously on 
the tables before him. He proposes to class- 
ify them. Let us suppose the property he 
first examines is color. He looks over the 
whole and takes out all that are spotted and 
places them by themselves. He next takes 
all that are white and forms another class, 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 253 

and so on, arranging them in classes accor- 
ding as they agree in the property of color. 
Or they might in the same way be classified 
with reference to any other property or, as the 
more common phrase is, or any other princi- 
ple. Take, for example, form. All those 
which are in two parts, as the oyster, clam, 
&c, might be arranged by themselves in one 
class, and those which consist of a single 
part in another class. These classes might 
be easily subdivided on the same principle, 
with reference to form alone. All the spiral 
shells might form one class, the conical ones 
another, and those of a different form still, a 
third. This would be classifying them on 
the principle of form. Now it must be ob- 
served that this classification would entirely 
break up and destroy the other. For the 
spotted shells which were before arranged 
together in one class would now be scattered 
among several according to their various 
forms." 

You perceive that in arranging their class- 
es the individual exercised the power of ab- 
straction; that is, he directed the attention 

22 



254 young man's assistant. 

according to the first supposition to the par- 
ticular property of color, to the neglect of 
equally obvious properties, and upon the 
second supposition he directed the attention 
to the property of form, to the neglect of oth- 
er equally obvious properties. You will no- 
tice that "the principle of classification which 
is adopted in regard to any collection of in- 
dividuals may be varied almost indefinitely. 
Shells, for example, might be classified with 
reference to the habits of the animals. All 
which lived in fresh water might form one 
class and salt water shells another. Each of 
these might be subdivided according to the 
food and habits of the animal. Or the prin- 
ciple of classification might be geographical. 
Tnose from Africa might be placed upon one 
shelf, those from Asia on another, and Amer- 
ican specimens on a third." The principle 
might be varied almost indefinitely. "In de- 
termining the principle of classification to 
be adopted in any case that is the property or 
peculiarity in which those placed together 
are to be similar, we cannot have regard to 
the object in view. These remarks naturally 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 255 

lead to the following practical rules which 
are worthy of very careful consideration, 
since there is perhaps no process a thorough 
knowledge of which is more essential to a 
well disciplined mind than classification. 

1. In determining upon a principle of 
classification there should be a careful regard 
to the object in view in making the classifica- 
tion itself. . , 

2. The classes should be bounded by as 
distinct and well defined limits as the nature 
of the case will allow. 

3. The classes should be such as to in- 
clude all the individuals, so that every indi- 
vidual object classed shall belong to some 
one or other of them. 

4. The classification when completed 
should be considered in its true light, as an 
artificial arrangement resorted to merely as a 
matter of convenience, and therefore not a 
proper subject for angry disputes". 

I have thus quoted at some length, from 
Abbott's edition of Abercrombie's Inquiries 
on the intellectual Powers, an explanation 
and an illustration of the process of classifi- 



256 young man's ASSISTANT. 

cation are well adapted to render the subject 
clear and to shew its importance. 

I have said that the power of abstraction 
is employed in the process of generalization. 
I will quote upon this point from the same 
author. 

''Generalization is to be distinguished from 
classification though the mental process con- 
cerned is in both essentially the same. We 
class together a certain number of substan- 
ces by a property in which they agree, and 
in doing so we specify and enumerate the in- 
dividual substances included in the class. 
Thus we may take a number of substances 
differing widely in their external and mechan- 
ical properties, some being solid, some fluid, 
and some gaseous, and say they are all acids. 
The class being thus formed and consisting 
of a denned number of substances which 
agree in the property of acidity, we may next 
investigate some other property which is com- 
mon to all the individuals of the class, and 
belongs to no other, and say for example, 
that all acids redden vegetable blues. The 
former of these operations is properly classi- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 257 

fied, the latter is generalizing in reference to 
the class. In the former we take, or ex- 
clude individual substances according as they 
possess or not, the property on which the 
classification rests. In performing the latter, 
the property which is assumed, must belong 
to all the individuals without a single excep- 
tion, or if it does not it must be abandoned 
as a general fact, or general principle in re- 
gard to ihe class. For in Physical science 
to talk of exceptions to a general rule, is only 
to say in other words that the rule is not gen- 
eral. If one acid were discovered which 
does not redden vegetable blues, it would be- 
long to a history of these substances, to state 
that a certain number of them have this prop- 
erty. But the property of reddening vegeta- 
ble blues would require to be abandoned as a 
general fact, or general principle applicable 
to the class of acids. 

U A general law, or general principle; then, 
is nothing more than a general fact, or a fact 
which is invariably true of all the individual 
cases to which it professes to apply. Dedu- 
cing such facts is the great object of modern 

22* 



S58 young man's assistant. 

science ; and it is by this peculiar character 
that it is distinguished from the ancient science 
of the schools, the constant aim of which was 
to discover causes. The general law of 
gravitation, for example, is nothing more than 
the general fact, or fact invariably true, that 
all bodies when left unsupported fall to the 
ground. There were at one time certain 
apparent exceptions to the universality of this 
law, namely, in some very light bodies, which 
were nor. observed to fall. But a little farther 
observation showed that these are prevented 
from falling by being lighter than the atmos- 
phere, and that in vacuo they observe the 
same law as the heaviest bodies. The ap- 
parent exceptions being thus brought under 
the law, it became general, mmely, the fact 
universally true, that all unsupported bodies 
fall to the ground. Now, of the cause of 
this phenomenon we know nothing; and what 
we call the general law, or general principle 
of gravitation, is nothing more than a univer- 
sal fact, or a fact that is true without a single 
exception. But having ascertained the fact 
to be invariably and universally true, we as- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 559 

sume it as apart of the established order of 
nature, and proceed upon it with as much 
confidence as if we knew the mysterious 
agency on which the phenomenon depends 
The establishment of the fact as universal 
brings us to that point in the inquiry which is 
the limit of our powers and Capacities, and it 
is sufficient to the purposes of science. On 
the same principle, it is familiar to eveiy one 
that extensive discoveries have been made in 
regard to the properties and laws of heat; but 
we do not know what heat is, whether a dis- 
tinct essence, or, as has been supposed by 
some philosophers, a peculiar motion of the 
minute atoms of bodies." 

Here you have an illustration of the na- 
ture and process of generalization or the 
gathering up of general facts and general 
principles from the examination of particular 
cases. This process you will at once per- 
ceive to be one of the most important opera- 
tions of the mind. 

But there is a source of error in the exer 
esse of generalization, which it is important 
should be pointed out, and guarded against, 



260 young man's assistant. 

and that is, the danger of drawing general 
conclusions from a limited examination of par- 
ticular cases. You may have met with politi- 
cians, who are governed not by the noble feel- 
ings of Patriotism, but by selfishness and per- 
sonal ambition alone. And, from your slight 
acquaintance with a few of this class you may 
adopt, as a general principle, that every poli- 
tician may be hired and has his price. This is 
a hasty adoption of a general principle. It 
may hold true of some individuals, and not 
true of others. So you may have met with 
some, who, under the cloak of high religious 
professions and pretensions, have proved to be 
dishonest, trickish knaves, and you immediate- 
ly generalize upon these cases, and adopt as a 
general fact or truth, that all who make pre- 
tensiors to religion are hypocrites and knaves. 
Here you perceive that you have not been 
sufficiently extensive and careful in your ex- 
amination of particulars. You have drawn a 
general conclusion from too limited a number 
of particulars. In this way we are every day 
liable to error, and we should be ever on our 
guard. We see this in the books of English 
travellers in America. They notice peculiar 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTITATION. 261 

and uncouth habits and practices in some, it 
may be, in most, with whom they may meet. 
This they have a perfect right to say in their 
published accounts. But, instead of doing 
this, they draw a general conclusion from par- 
ticular parts, and say that Americans, speak- 
ing generally, are marked by their peculiar 
and uncouth habits. And consequently with 
much careful observation, their books are full 
of assertions calculated to give false impres- 
sions, from their incorrect habits of generaliz- 
ing. Remember then the danger, that you 
are prone to draw a general conclusion from 
too limited an examination of particular facts. 
Ao-ain, we are in danger of referring our con- 
elusions, our general deductions, to circum- 
stances in the particular cases, which we have 
examined, with which they have nothing to 
do. For example, a Physician rinding that a 
particular kind of food promoted the health of 
a certain patient in a particular disorder, laid it 
down as a general principle, that that kind of 
food is beneficial in that particular disorder, 
without any further examination of particulars. 
But, upon ordering that in another case, it 



262 young man's assistant. 

proves injurious. He perceives that his prin- 
ciple will not hold good. But, as one of the 
patients is a Dutchman and the other a French- 
man, he lays it down as a principle, that 
that particular kind of food, when given in 
that particular disorder, will prove beneficial 
to Dutchmen but injurious to Frenchmen. 

This is probably a fictitious anecdote; but 
it serves to illustrate the position that we may 
draw our general conclusions from circum- 
stances in the facts which we examine, with 
which they have no connection. 

I have now spoken of Abstraction, Classi- 
fication, and Generalization. They are nearly 
connected; and yet they differ somewhat. — 
The general remarks, however, upon their 
uses and the mode of cultivating and acquiring 
them, may apply to all three. 

And in regard to the practical application 
of these powers to the business of life:— I 
remark first, that the proper exercise of them 
lies at the foundation of all science. He who 
exercises them correctly possesses a philo- 
sophic mind, and will be constantly making 
improvement. But how so ? Because, I 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 263 

answer, that improvement depends not so 
much on a knowledge of particular facts, as 
upon an ability to seize upon, understand and 
apply the principles in accordance with which 
those facts take place or are classed. Two 
individuals go out into the fields; they per- 
ceive the same objects ; the one, not having 
been accustomed to exercise the powers of 
which I am speaking, tries to store away in 
his mind accurate ideas of all the particular 
objects which he sees. With great powers 
of memory, he may be successful in this, 
though the probability is that he will fail. But 
even should he be successful, he has only a 
store of separate, disconnected facts. He 
can name them and talk about them, but he 
can draw from them no general principles or 
philosophical conclusions. The other has 
formed the habits of Abstraction, Classifica- 
tion and Generalization ; and consequently 
these various facts and objects arrange them- 
selves in his mind into certain classes, ac- 
cording to their resemblances in certain par- 
ticulars. The objects of the vegetable world 
arrange themselves under the principles of 



264 young man's assistant. 

the science of Botany* The stones, which 
lie scattered around, arrange themselves under 
the principles of Mineralogy. When he 
meets with a new plank or a new stone, he 
exercises the power of abstraction, and con- 
fines the attention to the examination of some 
one important quality ; then he knows at once 
where to class these separate objects, and 
finally he gathers up from this examination 
and classification some general part or princi- 
ple, in regard to which he can reason, and by 
the application of which, he can proceed in 
the investigation of new parts or objects. 
Thus you perceive that while the mind of one 
is filled with a vast store of confused facts, 
that of the other resembles a well arranged 
cabinet, each idea is placed in the class where 
it properly belongs, and the class is labelled 
so as to be ready for use. These powers 
then lie at the foundation of all science in re- 
gard to natural objects. And the scientific 
classification of natural objects affords the 
means of gathering further information and 
improvement. Why w 7 as it that Franklin 
made the progress and the discoveries, which 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 265 

are attributed to him? It was not on account 
of his superior advantages, for he was but a 
poor printer's boy. His superiority arose 
from his philosophical cast of mind, from his 
habitual exercise of the powers, of which I 
have been speaking. Facts were with him as 
they will be with every one who has formed 
the habits of Abstraction, Classification and 
Generalization, important, not as facts merely, 
but as illustrative of certain principles, laws 
or truths. 

How are these powers applied to promote 
improvement by reading? In answer to this 
question I must speak of different kinds of 
reading. And first, how are they to be ap- 
plied to the reading of parables and fables? 
Take the parables of our Saviour. What are 
these? Supposed cases. An individual is 
supposed to be placed in certain circumstan- 
ces and to conduct in a certain way. They 
are the supposed facts. The question is, 
how do these supposed facts indicate princi- 
ples? The careless and unphilosophical rea- 
der will treasure up only the facts, these he 
will remember and may talk about, and, in re- 

23 



gard to these, he will express his feelings and 
opinions. But this you see can be of no 
great advantage to himself or to others. — 
Another will gather from these supposed facts 
the principles whose existence they indicate 
and will treasure them up as the guide of his 
future thoughts and actions. In this way some 
may read fictitious writings to their own profit, 
provided they do not read to excess, provided 
they do not let the fascinations of the fiction 
draw them away Horn an attention to princi- 
ples and truth. Fictitious writings are the 
most difficult of all writings, if you intend to 
read profitably; because the excitement of the 
story and the plot carry you along so rapidly 
as to lead you to neglect to seek for the prin- 
ciples which are bodied forth in these fictions. 
You are carried along with the story, you re- 
member the story, but you do not gather up 
the important principles, which are intended 
to be illustrated. That is, this is the case 
with highly wrought and deeply intricate fic- 
tions. This objection does not weigh so heav- 
ily against fables and parables because in these 
the moral truth stands out more prominently 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 267 

to view, and you are not carried away by the 
story. But you should remember that in read- 
ing these you are to exercise the several pow- 
ers of Abstraction in attending to the promi- 
nent truth or principle illustrated by the para- 
ble, to the neglect of the incidental circum- 
stances, inserted for the purpose of making a 
consistent story, and classification in arranging 
these principles under their proper heads or 
classes, and generalization in drawing from 
them general truths which may be applicable 
to conduct. 

Let me next speak of Biography. This is 
an important and a useful class of reading. 
But I have known Biography read un profita- 
bly as well as profitably. In fact I believe 
men as often mistake the true point, in this 
kind of reading, as in almost any other, espe- 
cially when they read for the sake of treasur- 
ing up examples for imitation. One, for ex- 
ample, will read the life of Howard. He will 
be able to tell all the particular facts, and to 
dwell upon all the particular circumstances, 
and that will be all. These facts will exist in 
his mind only as facts, not as manifestations of 



288 young man's assistant. 

principles, in the study of human nature.— 
Another will exercise the power of abstrac- 
tion in attending to the principles, which are 
illustrated, to the neglect of a thousand inci- 
dental circumstances, he will follow these prin- 
ciples through all the various incidents of life, 
and, by so doing, will arrive at a general prin- 
ciple. For instance, we will first notice that 
Howard's attention was providentially directed 
to the condition of Prisoners, from the circum- 
stance that, as a magistrate, he was called to 
visit prisoners. His own account of the mat- 
ter is plain and simple. "The distress of pris- 
oners," he says, "came more immediately un- 
der my notice, when I was sheriff of the coun- 
ty of Bedford, and the circumstance, which 
excited me to activity on their behalf, was 
seeing some, who by the verdict of the juries 
had been declared not guilty, and some, on 
whom the grand jury did not find such an ap- 
pearance of guilt, as subjected them to trial, 
and some whose prosecutors did not appear 
against them, (all of whom ought to have 
been instantly discharged,) dragged back to 
jail, where they had been confined for months 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIYATION. 269 

and locked up again, until they should pay- 
various fees to the jailor, clerk of assizes, &c. 
In order to redress this hardship, I applied to 
the justices of the county, for a salary to the 
jailor, instead of his fees. They were prop- 
erly affected with this grievance, and willing 
to grant the relief required, but they wanted 
a precedent for charging the county with ex- 
pense. I therefore rode into several neigh- 
boring counties in search of a precedent. But 
I soon learned that the same injustice was 
practiced in them, and looking into the pris- 
ons, I beheld scenes of calamity, which I 
grew daily more and more anxious to relieve." 
Here then, a philosophical reader will perceive 
that a heart naturally benevolent, and filled 
with a love of justice, is accidentally as it were 
excited. The individual Howard had no idea 
then of doing all that he afterwards undertook, 
in behalf of the prisoner, in devoting his life 
to the cause, but the circumstances, which first 
awakened his attention, were such as called 
upon him for effort, ealled upon him to visit 
neighboring counties. Here he gained more 
knowledge, and the very circumstance of his 

22* 



270 young man's assistant. 

making efforts increased his interest. Fol- 
lowing him through his life the philosophical 
reader will draw the general conclusion, that 
attention to, and efforts and sacrifices in be- 
half of any person, or class of persons, of 
any object or class of objects, is naturally 
calculated to increase interest in these per- 
sons or objects and to call forth still further 
efforts and sacrifices. Thus he has derived, 
from reading the life of Howard, a general 
principle. This he will verify, by watching 
the conduct and reading the biographies of 
other men. And this principle he can apply 
to his own practice. He can go and put 
forth efforts and make sacrifices in behalf of 
any object, for which he thinks he does not 
feel sufficient interest. He can apply it to 
practice in bis influence upon others by in- 
ducing them to do the same. 

But how did he arrive at this general prin- 
ciple? It was by abstraction and generaliza- 
tion. I have dwelt upon this particular ex- 
ample in order to illustrate what I regard as 
the proper mode of reading biography. You 
are to read not for the sake of the facts, as 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 271 

facts, but for the sake of the principles, of 
which these facts are the manifestations. 

I have spoken of the imitation of exam- 
ple. Here the young mistake. I have known 
young men, desirous of being distinguished 
orators, imitate the attitudes, gestures and 
tone of voice, of the most distinguished speak- 
ers they had known, instead of endeavoring 
to gather up the important principles of ora- 
tory, manifested in their peculiarities and ap- 
ply them to their own individual habits and 
capacities. But perhaps, out of regard to 
my profession, I may be permitted to illus- 
trate my views by reference to the example 
of our Savior. This we are called upon to 
imitate, and yet none of us can expect to do 
the same deeds that he did. What then must 
we do? We must look at his actions, not as 
important in themselves, but as important be- 
cause they are the manifestations of the 
principles of his character. We may 
imitate some particular actions, and fall far 
short of complying with the call which is 
made upon us. For instance, we may fast 
forty days, or we may pray all night. But 



this is not imitating his example. It is copy- 
ing some few of his actions. But copying 
actions is not imitating examples, although 
the former is so often mistaken for the latter. 
We must look, I say, at our Savior's actions 
in order to gather up a knowledge of his prin- 
ciples, and his spirit. We may learn that 
one of his principles, in the discharge of 
the duties of the Messiahship, was unswerv- 
ing devotion to the will of God, another was 
that of self sacrificing devotion to the good of 
man, and not merely to his temporal good but 
to the improvement of his moral and spiritu- 
al character. Here then are principles. — 
These principles we may apply to the regula- 
tion of our own conduct, in our peculiar 
circumstances, and according to our powers. 
We may never work miracles to heal the 
sick, but we may under the influence of a 
self sacrificing devotion to their good, do all 
in our power to relieve their distresses. We 
may never be called to the death of the cross, 
but we may be called to unswerving de- 
votion to duty, amid sneers and opposition. 
You perceive then how we may apply our 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 273 

habits of abstraction and generalization in the 
reading of Biography. We are to withdraw 
our attention from unimportant and incidental 
circumstances, and to direct it to prominent 
principles, or rather we are to direct our atten- 
tion to the peculiarities in the various facts, 
which tend to exemplify and illustrate impor- 
tant principles, and then by the power of gen- 
eralization we are to draw out distinctly the 
general principles indicated, so that being dis- 
tinctly before our own minds, we may apply 
them to practice. 

The same principles which have been point- 
ed out as applicable to the reading of Biogra- 
phy, are equally applicable to the reading of 
History. Much is said to young men upon 
the importance of reading History. And they 
are often misled by what is said to them. They 
seem to think that a knowledge of the facts 
of history is of great advantage in itself con- 
sidered, that these facts are important simply 
because they are facts of history. I would 
agree with others, that the reading of history 
is important provided it be read aright. But I 
regard the facts of history as of no sort of im- 



274 young man's assistant. 

portance whatever in themselves considered, 
and merely because they are facts of history. 
And the fact that a young man has treasured 
these up in his memory, is in my estima- 
tion no more to his advantage than it would be 
to be able to remember the number of stores 
in a particular street; — that a certain battle 
was fought at a certain place on a certain day 
of the year, and that so many were killed and 
such an army came off victorious, all this is 
nothing to me simply as facts. But these are 
of vast importance to me as serving to illus- 
trate human nature and mark its condition at 
a particular time, and the indications of its 
progress and advancement. It may be that 
this battle was the consummation of a strug- 
gle for liberty on the one hand and for power 
on the other, and that the result either pro- 
moted the former or established the latter. It 
may be of the utmost importance then, that I 
remember this battle in connection with the 
principles involved in the struggle, and the 
consequences which result from its issue. So 
it is of no particular importance to me that 
Caesar or that Alexander, that Socrates or 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 275 

Plato lived at certain periods and performed 
certain actions. These things are of no im- 
portance to me, simply as facts. But in study- 
ing the character of these individuals, the man- 
ner in which these characters were formed by 
the influences to which the individuals were 
subjected — the circumstances under which 
they were placed, and the influence which 
these characters exerted upon the community 
of their own times and the generations which 
followed, in studying these things, it may be 
a matter of great importance that I fix in my 
mind clear ideas and vivid recollections of these 
characters. 

You perceive then how I would have you 
read History. You will look at the facts in 
history only in their bearing upon important 
results in the manifestation and development 
of human nature, and in their influence upon 
the improvement or depression of the race. 
So you will look at the characters which 
are brought forward in history in the same 
light. You will endeavor to understand the 
principles which are de eloped, the circum- 
stances under which they were formed and the 



276 young man's assistant. 

influences which they exerted. History is 
often said to be Philosophy teaching by ex- 
amples. If you read in the way which I have 
suggested, it may be so. You will be study- 
ing the Philosophy of human nature as that 
Philosophy is developed in the particular ex- 
amples which are brought to view. So you 
may notice the influence which the peculiar 
characters of different nations exert in giving a 
peculiar national character to their laws and 
institutions and the influence which these 
laws and institutions exert upon the character 
of the people. In looking at particular histo- 
rical characters you will often detect some one 
act which is not dwelt upon by the historian, 
but which lays open to your view at a single 
glance the governing principles of the charac- 
ter and puts you in possession of the means of 
forming a correct estimate of a great variety 
of apparently very different actions. There 
may be apparent inconsistency of conduct 
which will disappear as soon as you become 
acquainted with the ruling motives or govern- 
ing principles of the men. I would recom- 
mend still further that you read with a pen- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 277 

eil in hand to mark the passages which may- 
appear to you to be important in their bearing 
upon the particular objects for which you study 
history. Or with a manuscript by your side in 
which you may copy such passages or minute 
down such references to them as will aid you 
in your review of or reflections upon what you 
have read. But in reading in the way which 
I have suggested you will be exercising the 
power of abstraction in attending to some points 
in history to the neglect of others. 

You will improve yourselves in this exer- 
cise of the power of abstraction by fixing, when 
you are reading history or biography, upon the 
ruling principle in each character and then 
tracing this principle through all the various 
peculiarities of the character. You may still 
further improve yourselves by examining any 
book you may read in regard to several differ- 
ent points one by one. You may look first at 
the style, study out its peculiarities, and class 
the style as it appears to you. This you may 
do without attending to other peculiarities of 
the book. And when you have done this you 
may take some other point, as for example, the 

24 



correctness or incorrectness of the opinions ad- 
vanced, and their probable beneficial or inju- 
rious tendency in a practical point of view. — 
Still further, if you will direct your attention 
to the study of natural sciences or to that of 
the mathematical and exact sciences, you will 
gain great power in the exercise of abstraction 
— -and in the application of this power to the 
purposes of classification or generalization. 

In closing this letter I would offer a few 
words upon the general subject of reading. 
I have often been asked by my young friends 
to point out for them a course of reading. 
But as for myself I object to this.™ 
For each individual in pointing out a course 
of reading will be influenced by his own pe- 
culiar tastes which may differ materially from 
the tastes of those for whom he is pointing 
out the course. His pursuits may be differ- 
ent and he may have read for very different 
purposes from what the young person whom 
he would advise, would read. Instead of 
pointing out a course of reading I would simp- 
ly offer one or two suggestions as to the man- 
ner of reading. And my first suggestion is, 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 279 

that you read by subjects rather than by auth- 
ors. Suppose that you are reading in regaid 
to our revolution. You will naturally wish 
to know the causes which led to this revolu- 
tion, both as you find them in the previous 
characters and habits and feelings of the peo- 
ple of this country and in the peculiar courses 
pursued towards them by the parent country. 
You will then, while upon this subject, not 
read authors regularly through, but will seek 
in different authors and in different portions of 
the same author, for all the information you 
can gain upon this particular point. When 
you have done this I would advise that you 
sit down and write out a dissertation upon the 
revolution, its causes, the manifestation which 
it affords of the principles of human nature 
and the influence exerted by it upon the con- 
dition of the world, the condition of Amer- 
ica, of England and of other European states. 
Or if you have not time to write all this out 
in full you can by reflection picture it ail out 
to your mind's eye so as to have clear ideas 
and vivid conceptions in regard to it. And in 
this way the subject will be settled in your 



280 young man's assistant. 

own mind and you will have distinct ideas 
stored away for future use. So if you should 
become interested in the character and times 
of queen Elizabeth. Read all you can get 
upon that particular subject. And when you 
have read, either form to yourselves clear and 
distinct conceptions upon the subject, or if you 
have time write out an essay or a dissertation 
upon the subject. I repeat then, read by sub- 
jects. When you have fixed your thoughts upon 
a particular subject do not dismiss it from your 
minds until you obtain clear and correct ideas 
of that subject. Waste no time in determin- 
ing when you shall begin to read, and what 
course of reading you shall pursue. But be- 
gin by reading upon the subject which is at 
the time most interesting to you, and pursue 
the course which may be dictated by the sub- 
ject upon which you may be interested. Your 
interest upon one subject and your reading up- 
on it may excite your interest in other, and 
kindred subjects. In this way, if you are 
careful to read not merely for amusement but 
with the desire of improvement,^] and^ if you 
will reflect or write upon the subjects upon 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 281 

which you read you will be pursuing what will 
be most profitable to you because it will be 
most in accordance with your peculiar tastes 
and purposes of life. 



M® 



LETTER IX. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 

Memory — The importance of the subject stated — Arti*. 
ficial systems of Mnemonics of no avail — The first 
step in improving the memory cousists in securing 
clear and distinct ideas of the various subjects to which 
our attention may be directed — This may be done by 
making the particulars of our knowledge the subjeo 
of thought — The influence of one's habit of assocn 
ating ideas upon the memory — general suggestions in 
regard to memory— Imagination, what it is, illustrated 
Its exercise must be based upon some previous knowl- 
edge of the subjects upon which it is exercised — Im- 
agination possessed by all though in different degrees 
and manifested very early — Imagination of great im- 
portance, in the investigation and establishment of 
truth— in the various process of invention — Its influ- 
ence upon character — Modes of cultivating and reg- 
ulating the imagination. 

My Young Friends., 

I have already spoken of the modes of 
acquiring knowledge. I have pointed out the 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 283 

way, in which we should strive to acquire an 
accurate acquaintance with the objects around 
us, under the head of perception. I have 
pointed out the way, in which we should strive 
to form clear and distinct ideas, under the gen- 
eral head of Conception. I have pointed out 
;the best way of classifying objects and deriving 
from a knowledge of their qualities general 
truths, under the general head of Abstraction. 
These topics seem to embrace all that need 
■be said in this connection on the subject of ac- 
quiring knowledge. I come now to speak of 
the best modes of retaining knowledge, or in 
other words to speak upon the subject of Mem- 
ory. This is as important, to say the least, 
if not as interesting as any topic that can come 
before us. Who is there of us that has not 
lamented at times and in relation to particular 
subjects the weakness and shortness of his own 
memory? Who of us does not wish, after la- 
boring hard to acquire knowledge, to be able 
to retain it for future enjoyment and future use? 
The subject of memory then is important. I 
trust that its importance^ at least will give it in- 
terest. 



284 young man's assistant. 

But I have felt, as I have been preparing 
to address you upon this subject, that all I 
might be able to offer would only disappoint 
your expectations. Because most seem to ex- 
pect when you speak of directions to aid the 
memory, that you have some peculiar and 
perhaps patent mode of securing the recollec- 
tion of objects to recommend. I remember 
that not many years since in Massachusetts 
there were several passing from town to town 
Lecturing upon and teaching Mnemonics. And 
all run after these Lectures under the idea 
that they should never more be troubled to re- 
member whatever they might desire to retain. 
The course recommended in these lectures 
was to take familiar objects and arbitrarily 
connect them in our own minds with the par- 
ticulars which we wished to remember. Or to 
have certain words or certain arbitrary combi- 
nations of letters, represent certain facts and 
dates. There have been a great variety of 
these artificial helps to the memory. But to 
my mind they appear to be only the sports 
and pastimes of ingenuity, of no sort of prac- 
tical advantage whatever. In the first place 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 285 

' the same amount of labor which would fix in 
' the mind these objects which represent others, 
would have answered in most cases to have 
fixed in the mind the objects themselves which 
are represented. In the second place, sup- 
pose that by this artificial mode you are com- 
pletely successful in remembering facts. Still 
you remember them only as facts, without their 
connection with any important consequences. 
And, therefore, so far as your own future 
improvement is concerned you are but little 
better than you would be without the recollec- 
tion of these facts. I have then no patent mode 
of improving the memory to recommend, no 
new or royal road to point out. I have no faith 
in such things myself and I cannot recommend 
them to others. Having thus guarded you 
against erroneous expectations in regard to my 
recommendation, I will proceed directly to 
the subject. And here without occupying any 
space in definitions of the term Memory, or in 
quoting from the books upon the subject, I 
will proceed at once to point out what my own 
observation and experience have taught me in 
regard to its improvement. 



286 young man's assistant. 

And first, I remark that you cannot retain 
that which you never acquired, and, that on 
this point, many mistakes are made. An indi- 
vidual examines a painting, he goes away, and 
shortly after, when asked to describe that paint- 
ing he finds that he has forgotten all its pecu- 
liar features. Now where is the difficulty? 
He complains that his memory is weak and 
treacherous. But I contend that there is no 
proof of this. The fact is, he never had a 
clear and distinct conception of that painting, a 
vivid idea or representation of it in his own 
mind. And here is the point to which atten- 
tion should be directed. Fori have watched 
this point carefully, and I feel prepared to state 
as a general principle, that we must form clear 
conceptions or ideas of whatever we wish to 
retain, since it is only these perceptions or ideas 
that we can store away, or recall. I say then,. 
if you examine a painting, and then dismiss 
the painting from your thoughts, you never 
will he able to retain an accurate idea of it. — 
But if after having examined a painting, you 
make it the subject of after thought, if when 
the painting is removed from your vision, you 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 287 

dwell upon it, name over all the parts to your- 
self, and picture it all out to your mind's eye, 
so that you can see it in conception, as distinct- 
ly as ever you saw it in bodily vision, — if, I 
•say, you will do this, you will be able to re- 
tain your conceptions, you will have an idea 
which you can store away for future use. So 
too in regard to other departments of knowl- 
edge. Here are two individuals listening to a 
sermon, or a lecture. They listen with equal 
attention. The one retains what he hears, 
while the other does not. And what is the 
cause of the difference? It is this. The one 
hears with attention, but dismisses the whole 
subject from his mind when he leaves the house. 
He does not make the discourse a subject of 
thought, after he has done hearing, he does 
not bring it up distinctly before his mind's eye, 
in all its heads, divisions, arguments, illustra- 
tions and conclusions, after he has done hear- 
ing, and left the house. The other does this. 
When he retires, he brings up the whole, as a 
matter of thought. In the one case it is asso- 
ciated only with the preacher and the circum- 
stances under which he spoke, it is all without 



288 young man's assistant. 

the mind. In the other case it is transferred 
from this outward view to an inward grasp, if 
I may so speak. It exists, or the concep- 
tions or ideas of the discourse exist, within 
the mind itself, as a part of its own store, and 
as one of the conditions or states in which it 
has existed. This view of the subject seems 
to me to contain the whole secret in regard to 
the influence of attention upon memory. Much 
is often said upon this subject of attention as 
connected with the improvement of the mem- 
ory. And yet in all that has been said I have 
seen no directions, as to the precise point, to 
which the attention should be directed. You 
must pay attention, say writers upon the sub- 
ject. But attention to what? The young 
man strives to pay close attention to the exam- 
ination of a painting, or to the hearing of a 
discourse, and thinks that he has done all that 
is required, and yet he cannot remember. I 
say too, pay attention. But remember that 
all attention in examination and hearing, will be 
of no avail unless you also direct your atten-. 
tion to the forming distinct conceptions of 
what you see and hear, unless after you have 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 289 

seen and heard, you make the subject of what 
you see and hear matters of distinct and sepa- 
rate thought. Unless you do this, all your at- 
tention will be nearly in vain. Although this 
point has not been distinctly dwelt upon, yet 
the general directions given by writers upon 
the subject have a bearing upon it. One 
says it will greatly aid your memory, to repeat 
what you have heard, and to describe what 
you have seen, to others. But why so? Be- 
cause, 1 answer, in so doing, you are compelled 
to make them subjects of thought, you are com- 
pelled to have your ideas of them distinctly 
and clearly defined to your own minds. Anoth- 
er says, it will greaily aid your memory if you 
will write out carefully an account of what 
you have either seen or heard. And why so? 
Because you are thus compelled to make what 
you see and hear matters of thought, and to 
form clear and distinct conceptions of them. 
Now I would recommend all these various 
modes of improving the memory. But I would 
point out the reason why they may promote 
its improvement, that so, if you are unable to 
attend to these several modes 3 you may, at least 

25 



290 young man's assistant. 

pause for a few moments, and make the vari- 
ous objects of your perceptions the subject of 
thought — form clear and distinct conceptions 
of them. 

The substance then of my remarks is, first, 
to acquire thoroughly a knowledge of whatever 
may be the subject of attention. Here, I say, 
is the great mistake. Men complain that they 
cannot retain, when the fact is they never pos- 
sessed; they complain that they cannot re- 
member, when, in point of fact, they never 
knew. You, perceive, therefore, that all which 
I have hitherto advanced upon the modes of 
acquiring knowledge, has a direct bearing 
upon, an intimate connection with this subject, 
and might all be considered but as directions 
to help us improve the memory. How often 
have we heard the remark that such an one 
reads a great deal, but does not remember what 
he reads. But why? Does he read a novel? 
and does he talk about, or repeat the story to 
another, when he has done ? If so, he may 
remember the story, for that will be the object 
of his conceptions. But if he simply read 
the story and then pass on to another, he will 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 291 

not remember even that, because, by not dwel- 
ling upon it, in thought, he has formed no clear 
conceptions even of the story. Another, per- 
haps, may read the same story and make the 
sentiment, and the moral instructions conveyed, 
the subject of thought ; of these he may give 
an account ; on these he may dwell, as matters 
of thought, and these he may be able to re- 
member longer even than the mere details of 
the story. 

I would next remark that the character of 
one's memory depends much upon the peculiar 
manner in which he may associate ideas,, 
and that men usually associate ideas according 
to their prevailing tastes, their previous habits 
or their engrossing turn of thought. This it is 
important to notice. We find men, often, 
pronouncing very different, perhaps directly 
opposite opinions, in regard to the same per- 
son, or book, or discourse. And why ? Because 
the peculiarities, which are in accordance with 
or contrary to their previous habits of feeling, 
their previous opinions and prejudices, attract 
or repel, excite pleasure or disgust, and all else 
is overlooked. These peculiarities they will 



292 young man's assistant. 

remember, and they will remember the per- 
son, book or discourse, as marked by their 
peculiarities. Let an individual deliver a 
public address, or converse for a length of 
time upon a variety of topics, in the presence 
of a number, who are of different ways of 
thinking on a great variety of points. They 
may all remember the man and the address — ■ 
but they will remember them by different cir- 
cumstances. Suppose that he spesk among 
other things of the subject of temperance, 
and shew himself by what he says to be a 
decided friend to the cause. The friends of 
temperance, who may be present, will always 
remember the man and the discourse ; but it 
will be as a temperance man that they remem- 
ber, and think, and speak of him. Suppose 
he shew himself an abolitionist. The aboli- 
tionists who may be present will fasten upon 
this feature in his character and his discourse, 
and will ever after remember him, and speak 
of him, as an abolitionist. They will at the 
time perhaps wholly overlook and disregard 
what he may say upon the subject of temper- 
ance; or if they do not overlook it at the time, 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 293 

they will so dwell in thought upon his aboli- 
tionism, that they will forget altogether the 
other point in his character. Should these 
two classes of hearers, at some distance of 
time afterwards, converse together in regard 
to the man and the discourse, they will be 
surprised to find their recollections of him so 
entirely different. But the reason is that their 
memory has in both cases depended very 
much upon their habits of associating ideas, 
and these habits have resulted from the pecu- 
liar state of their feelings. It is common, 
therefore, and it is as useful as it is common, 
to associate ideas according to the relations 
which, to our minds, they may obviously bear 
to each other — determined as these relations 
will be by our pursuits, by our general train 
of thought, and by the bearing which they 
will probably have upon the use to which we 
may put them in our ordinary occupations. 
But the point of practical difficulty is to form 
such mental habits as will enable us to classify 
the various thoughts presented to the mind, 
in whatever manner they may be arranged 
when presented, in such a manner as will best 

25* 



294 young man's assistant* 

promote the object for which we would retain 
them. Without forming this habit we can 
never read, study or observe to advantage. If 
we look out upon the world around, a great 
variety of ideas are called up, or excited in 
our minds, by the different objects presented. 
But they are presented in no strict order.-— 
They are arranged according to their relations 
in actual being, and not according to any 
relations of our thoughts with each other.— 
And this is well; for men are engaged in dif- 
ferent pursuits, have different tastes, tenden- 
ces and habits — and consequently these are 
as well fitted for the use of one, as for that of 
another. But, unless we have formed such 
habits of association as will enable us to ar- 
range these ideas in such a manner as is best 
calculated to promote our improvement, they 
will be of no great advantage to us. 

It is the same with reading. Every writer 
arranges what he writes according to his own 
habits of thought, feeling and action. But 
your author's habits may be very different, in 
this respect, from your own. Therefore, to 
read profitably 3 you must not only follow the 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 295 

author's train of reasoning or argument, but 
you must think over the subject, and rearrange 
and reconstruct these arguments according to 
your own habits of thought and modes of 
reasoning. You may differ from him in opin- 
ion ; but, if so, you will be able to recollect 
wherein you differ. 

I have thus touched upon the connection of 
association with memory. And the simple 
practical hint which 1 would give upon (he 
subject is this :— Do not seek an artificial, 
although it may be regarded as a more philo- 
sophical, mode of associating ideas in order 
to promote strength of memory, — but follow 
the leading of your own feeling's, influenced 
as they will be by your pursuks. Suppose, 
for example, that two men sit down to study 
history— the one a clergyman, the other a 
statesman. What object must each of these 
have in view as they read? Must not the 
clergyman wish to look at men in their relation 
to the subject of religion ? And must not the 
statesman wish to look at men in their relation 
to state policy ? These two then ou^ht to 
read for different purposes ; their different 



296 toung man's assistant. 

pursuits require this of them. Neither, if 
possessed of a philosophic mind, will entirely 
overlook the object of the other, but the 
prominent objects of the two will be different. 
And reading for these different objects, they 
will remember very different points in histo- 
ry; each remembering those most distinctly 
which have a prominent 'bearing upon his par- 
ticular pursuit. They will classify the facts 
of history very differently — each arranging 
them according to the quality or on the prin- 
ciple suggested by the use he is to make of 
them. And so too they will draw from these 
different facts very different general conclu- 
sions or principles — each drawing such con- 
clusions as are suggested by the view which 
he takes of the facts, and the object for which 
he is examining them. 

Follow then, I repeat, the leading of your 
own feelings — influenced as these will proba- 
bly be by the object for which you are read- 
ing — and you will find your ideas and your 
items of knowledge arranging ' themselves in 
your mind, in what will be to you the most 
philosophical manner—the manner best adapt- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 297 

ed to the habits of your mind and to the use 
which you are to make of your knowledge. 

Thus much have I thought it necessary to 
say in aid of your efforts to improve your 
memory; I will now pass to a few remarks 
upon the subject Imagination. 

But what are we to understand by the term 
imagination? I answer, that we denote, by 
this term, that power which the mind pos- 
sesses, of picturing to itself objects and 
scenes, plans and models, which have never 
been witnessed. For example: Miss Sedge- 
wick, in her little work entitled "Live and 
Let Live," begins her story by taking you 
into the dwelling of Poverty and Intemper- 
ance. She there points out to you the father, 
brought to the bed of sickness by his intem- 
perance; the mother, surrounded by a group 
of children, and nerving herself, in the strength 
of religious principle, for the double effort of 
sending forth her daughter to seek a place at 
domestic service, and of reconciling the pride 
of her husband to what he regarded as the 
deoradation of the measure. Here is the 
description of a scene which her imagination 



298 young man's assistant. 

had pictured forth to her own mind. She 
only describes what, with her mind's eye, she 
saw; and yet she has described what probably 
never in fact existed, in all its details, and in 
the precise shape in which it is pictured forth. 
She has exercised that power of the mind, 
which we call imagination, in creations of its 
own. Imagination, then, is the power of 
picturing to the mind's eye scenes which 
never really existed. 

But the imagination cannot create, without 
materials out of which to construct her vari- 
ous creations. To recur to the example I 
have given. Miss Sedgwick had undoubtedly 
visited the abodes of poverty and intemper- 
ance; she had listened to the objections to an 
imaginary degradation, urged by the pride of 
those who, by their own guilty courses, have 
reduced themselves to real degradation; she 
had, probably, been acquainted with families, 
where the mother had struggled against the 
trials to which she was subjected, sustained 
only by the. strength of religious principle. — ■ 
Thar is, she had some knowledge of those 
things concerning which she undertook to 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 299 

write. Had there never been such a thing as 
intemperance in the world, or had Miss Sedg- 
wick never seen or heard of poverty and in- 
temperance, she never could have described 
such a picture. She probably, too, had 
looked into the human heart with a penetra- 
ting glance, and knew what course of conduct 
she might expect, as the result of certain 
opinions, principles or circumstances. On 
the basis of this knowledge she pictured forth 
a new scene. The details may all be exact 
descriptions of scenes with which she had 
actually been acquai ited ; only they are 
brought by the power of imagination into 
new relations and combinations with each 
other, so as to present an entirely new pic- 
ture. Or, it may be, that no one of the de- 
tails is a correct description of what she had 
seen; they may be only imitations, something 
which resembles or is like what she had seen* 
Here, then, you learn two important truths. 
The first is, that there must be some knowl- 
edge as the basis on which the imagination 
must build, and as the material out of which 
it is to construct its creations, Then you 



300 young man's assistant. 

learn, in the second place, that the imagination 
is exercised in two different operations — either 
in separating the items of knowledge from the 
connections in which they are presented to 
the mind, and forming them into new combi- 
nations and new pictures, or in picturing new 
scenes related to what has actually been seen, 
either by way of contrast or resemblance. 

Let me give another and somewhat more 
familiar illustration. — You are about to erect 
a new dwelling house, and you cast about, in 
your mind, in order to form some plan in ac- 
cordance with which it shall be constructed. 
You recall to your mind the peculiarities of 
other houses with which you have been ac- 
quainted. In one, you have been pleased 
with the parlor, but have disliked the kitchen; 
in another it has been the reverse — you have 
Lked the kitchen and disbked the parlor. In 
one, you have been pleased with the mode of 
heating — in another, with the mode of light- 
ing. In this way, you have found various 
things which you admire, and various things 
to which you object, in the different houses 
with which you have been acquainted. You 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 301 

now sit down and endeavor to unite these 
various excellences, to the exclusion of the va- 
rious particulars, which you dislike, into one 
perfect whole. You thus prepare a plan. — 
Some peculiarities you have copied from one 
house, and some from another. In some par- 
ticulars, you \vve not copied exactly, but ! ave 
sought only a slight resemblance. In Other 
cases your plan presents no resemblance to an 
thing you have seen. But only such reme- 
dies to inconveniences as have been suggested 
by the endurance of those inconveniences. 

In all this, you have been exercising the 
power of imagination. You have been pictur- 
ing to the mind's eye, all the various parts and 
peculiarities of your proposed house. You 
have now a clear view of it, and you could 
without difficulty describe the whole. But 
here as before you perceive that the new cre- 
ations of your imagination are based upon and 
constructed out of your actual knowledge. 

But we can go further than this in the ex-, 
ercise of the imagination. A writer of lively 
imagination, can sit in his room in New En- 
gland and pen an eastern tale* giving an ac~ 



count of the manners and customs, modes of 
speech and thought, which prevail in parts of 
the world where he has never been, and 
among people whom he has never seen. But 
how ran he do this? He must have acquired, 
in some way, some knowledge of eastern coun- 
tries and of eastern manners and customs, 
modes of thought and forms of speech. Had 
there heen no eastern nations, or had the wri- 
ter never read or heard about them, he could 
not have written the story he has written. So 
a writer.; of lively imagination, may write a 
tnle. which shall brin^ up before you the Jews 
in t! e t me of our Saviour, and exhibit all the 
peculiarities pf their modes of belief, of their 
prejir'i* es aw! expectations, their manners and 
custoriis. their modes of thought and of speech. 
But t! en he must previously have made him- 
self acquainted in some way, with the Jew- 
ish history and the Hebrew character. Had 
the character of the Hebrew nation been dif- 
ferent, his stnj-y must have been different.— 
But how r-oul'l it be made different, unless 
ba^ed upon a knowledge of this difference in 
their character? 



INTELLECTUAL SELF CULTIVATION. 803 

One obvious fact, in regard to the imagina- 
tion, is that, though possessed in different de- 
grees, it is yet possessed by all, and manifest- 
ed at a very early period of life. I have seen 
children, too young to articulate words, yet 
assuming imaginary characters, and endeavor- 
ing to act in accordance with what they imag- 
ined would become the assumed character. — 
And a kw months later in life, I have seen 
them acting out, to the full, all the ceremo- 
nies and business of those older than them- 
selves, making calls, asking questions, and 
passing compliments. I am aware ii ma) be 
said, that this is a mere imitation. I answer 5 , 
that it is true they have seen something of the 
kind, or they would never make the attempt. 
But what they do is not the same with what 
they have seen. It is only like that, and this 
I have said, is a legitimate exercise of the im- 
agination, to picture new scenes, like what 
have fallen under our observation. Children 
then, very early manifesl the power of imagi- 
nation, in their plays. If encouraged they 
will also manifest at a very early age, the same 
power in the invention and relation of dct.tious 



stories. This exercise of the imagination in 
children is of a very doubtful tendency. And 
it is problematical whether it should be en- 
couraged or checked. 

I believe that, upon the subject of imagina- 
tion, there is one great mistake, which is often 
made. Men read fictitious stories, and they 
soon seem to regard efforts at fictitious narrative, 
or, at least, efforts for mere amusement, as the 
only productions of the imagination. They 
therefore think that it may be well enough in 
its place to amuse a passing hour, but they 
have no idea that it is a power, whose exer- 
cise can be rendered useful. And yet, per- 
haps, no power of the mind is more employ- 
ed in useful operations. Even in what is re- 
garded as the peculiarly strict and logical pro- 
cess of abstract reasoning, imagination finds a 
place. You state for example an abstract 
truth. How, I ask, did you obtain a knowl- 
edge of that truth? Was it not by being ac- 
quainted with particulars involving that gene- 
ral truth? That I may illustrate more clearly, 
I would take one of the rules in Arithmetic, 
the rule of proportion for example. In that 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 305 

rule is stated an abstract principle, a general 
truth or fact, in regard to numbers. But bow, 
I ask, did the mind first arrive at that truth? 
Was it not by a careful acquaintance with par- 
ticular cases, which involved that principle? 
And how, I ask, can you prove to me that 
that principle is correct? Must it not be by 
bringing before me some particular examples, 
which, by being worked out, shew that, in re- 
gard to them, the principle holds good? You 
cannot then arrive at general truths yourself, 
you cannot communicate general truths to oth- 
ers, without verifying those truths by particu- 
lar examples. But when you are stating gen- 
eral truths so others, you may not always have 
at hand a supply of facts, which have actually 
occurred. Still, if you have a lively imagini- 
tion you can suppose cases, and picture scenes 
which will not only illustrate, but verily the 
general truth you are inculcating. Still further,, 
suppose )ou undertake to reason upon your 
general truths in an abstract manner, your 
course cannot be satisfactory. You must veri- 
fy every step in your process, as you go along, 
by particular examples, and these particular 
<26* 



306 young man's assistant. 

examples must be the creations of the imagi- 
nation. Take our Saviour's parables, for in- 
siince, what are they? I answer, they are 
supposed cases, intended to picture forth and 
illustrate general truths. The parable of the 
talents, does not pretend to describe facts 
which actually occurred, it aims only to pic- 
ture forth what may illustrate a general prin- 
ciple. But suppose that he had simply stated 
the general principle, that men's obligations 
correspond with their several abilities. How 
weak and powerless would this simple state- 
ment have been, compared with the impres- 
sion made by the lively picture, presented in 
the parable. The same may be said of the 
parable of the ten virgins. It is a supposed 
case, a creation of the imagination, to illustrate 
a general and an important truth. These sup- 
posed cases, brought forward by the imagina- 
tion, serve to verify general truths, to illustrate 
and make them familiar. And they throw an 
interest about tlese truths which would not 
other is < j <i>. You perceive this in 

d r fcers and write, s. One will write 

in a dose and connected train of reasoning, 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 307 

proposition will follow proposition, and all in a 
very logical manner. But still the process will 
be dull and dry. You cannot read with inter- 
est, and you find it difficult to retain what you 
read. Another will go over the same ground, 
but he will illustrate each general principle by 
some apt and striking supposed case. The 
whole will interest you as you read, and you 
will be able to retain the principles, because you 
will be able to retain the examples, which il- 
lustrate those principles, l'ou perceive, there- 
fore, that the imagination is not merely a pow- 
er exerted to amuse. It is of great use, of 
great aid and assistance in all processes of rea- 
soning, in enabling us to arrive at, to verify, 
to illustrate, and to set forth abstract truth. 

Again, in the process of invention in the 
arts, the imagination is employed. Yet, here 
as before, its operations are based upon some 
previous knowledge. An individual, for ex- 
ample, understands something of the princi- 
ples of Mechanical Philosophy. Taking this 
knowledge as the material to work upon, he 
imagines new combinations of these various 
principles, and, in this way, constructs in his 



308 

own mind a new machine. The machine is, 
to a degree, clearly and distinctly defined in 
his mind. But, it m:iy be, that as he engages 
in its construction, he will find that there are 
obstructions which lie has not thought of. — 
These he remedies. In all this process of in- 
vention, he has been engaged in a legitimate 
exercise of the imagination, he has been pic- 
turing forth 10 his own mind, constructions 
which never existed in fact But his crea- 
tions have been wrought out of previous knowl- 
edge. He has taken the principles of me- 
chanical philosophy, with which he had be- 
come acquainted, and worked them up into 
new combinations, and thus brought forth new 
inventions. I have now explained what I un- 
derstand by the term imagination, shown that 
its ex rcise must be based upon some previous 
knowledge of the subject, upon which it is ex- 
ercised, shown that it is manifested by children 
in very early life, and that it is employed in 
process of reasoning, investigating or illustrat- 
ing new truths, and also in the various pro- 
cess of invention in the arts. 
I wish now to speak of its influence upon char- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 309 

acter.~r.The imaginatiorrexerts a powerful in- 
fluence upon character, in several important 
ways. Look at that youth, his character is 
now in the process of formation. What it 
will ultimately be, will depend upon what 
he aims to be, upon the standard which 
he tries to reach. One, who fixes that stand- 
ard high, although he may never reach the 
standard at which he aims, will rise higher than 
he would have done, had it not been for that 
high standard. But what is this fixing on 
standard? Is it not picturing forth to the mind's 
eye the future character, in all its fulness and 
completeness. Is he looking forward to the law, 
he imagines himself already at the bar, and al- 
ways in the first rank. Does he look forward 
to the pulpit? He is in imagination already 
there, the instrument in God's hands of con- 
verting thousands to the Gospel of his grace. 
I am aware these reveries of the imagination 
may be, and sometimes are indulged in to ex- 
cess. But, I fully believe that, when under 
proper regulation, they may be, and often are, 
the means of stirring up the youthful energies 
to greater exertions than would otherwise have 



310 young man's assistant. 

been made. Of one thing, we may be cer- 
tain that lie who does not look forward to em- 
inence in future life, will be sure not to 
reach it. He may fail, if he try, for there 
may be more vividness of imagination, than 
general strength of mind. But if he never 
makes the attempt, never pictures any success, 
he certainly will not secure it. And the more 
clear and distinct may be the picture, which is 
painted to the mind's eye, the more will the 
individual be excited to efforts. The truth of 
these remarks may be seen, perhaps, as fully 
illustrated in the pursuit of wealth, as any 
where else. There are some who when young, 
picture out to their mind's eye the pleasures 
of rolling in wealth. They imagine the time, 
when they shall be worth an independent for- 
tune. They imagine what they shall then do, 
how much enjoyment they shall secure, or 
how much good they will accomplish. And 
the dwelling upon these imaginary pictures 
often has a salutary effect in promoting indus- 
try and economy. So too, in the religious life, 
every one aims at some standard. That stand- 
ard may be high or low, it may be formed as 



INTELLECTUAL 5ELF-CULTIVATI0N. 311 

it should be, upon the basis of our Lord's 
character, or upon the basis of some christian 
character, which we have known, or it may be 
the creation of our own imagination, upon the 
basis of our understanding of the requirements 
of the Gospel. Still, there is before the mind's 
eye the standard, find the cast and perfection 
of character will depend upon the character 
of that standard, upon its degree of elevation 
and upon the correctness of its outlines. And 
this picturing the future standard of character, 
is a legitimate exercise of the imagination. — 
You perceive then, how the imagination exerts 
an influence upon the character, in its influ- 
ence upon the standard of character, which 
men strive to reach. He whose imagination is 
lively, who can form clear and distinct pic- 
tures of the future, will he more excited to ef- 
fort, than he whose imagination is deadened 
and confused. So too, he whose imaginary 
pictures are based upon the most full and cor- 
rect knowledge, will find from this exercise, 
the most salutary influence. He who knows 
something of the struggle necessary to secure 
eminence, either in wealth or knowledge, will 



312 young man's assistant. 

find himself prompted to struggle as well as 
enjoy, he will lo k forward to severe labors 
and hard trials, as well as to glorious triumphs. 
Again, the imagination may exert an influ- 
ence in promoting steadiness and firmness of 
character. I am aware, indeed, that the very 
opposite of this is sometimes the result of an 
excessively indulged imagination. A person 
sometimes seems to live almost wholly, in an 
ideal world, of his own creation, surrounded, 
it may be, overpowered by fears resting up- 
on imaginary dangers. But still, I say, that 
when rightly cultivated, it may promote stead- 
iness of character. On what does steadiness 
of character depend? Does it not depend on 
looking at things just as they are. But in look- 
ing at things just as they are, one part of the 
exercise consists in perceiving clearly their con- 
sequences, in picturing out distinctly and viv- 
idly to the mind's eye these consequences, as 
they must, or as they probably will follow. — 
Here for example, you are overtaken by a 
calamity. Now, what I mean by steadiness 
of character is, the being able to meet the ca- 
lamity in its true character^ just as it is. — 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 313 

Stupid insensibility to its consequences is not a 
part of true steadiness of character; nor yet 
can he maintain steadiness of character, who 
is filled and perhaps overwhelmed by imagina- 
ry fears. It is he who can look at the calam- 
ity just as it is, and trace its probable conse- 
quences and picture them forth in their true 
light. But here must be the exercise of the 
imagination. The exercise is to picture forth 
as probable, what never really existed in fact. 
And this is an exercise of imagination. It 
should be the exercise of a well regulated im- 
agination, an imagination under the guidance 
of some knowledge upon the subject. Sup- 
pose you have broken a limb, from ignorance 
of the consequence of such a fracture, you 
may be stupidly insensible to your danger ; or 
you may be overwhelmed by groundless and 
unnecessary fears. But, if you have some 
slight knowledge of the usual consequences of 
such a fracture, you may by means of this 
knowledge, and in the exercise of a well re°"- 
ulated imagination, picture to yourself the prob- 
able consequences of such a fracture, so accu- 
rately as to be able to conduct appropriately 

27 



314 young man's assistant. 

under the circumstances of the case. So in 
any case of disease, trouble or affliction, the 
exercise of a well regulated imagination, will 
serve to promote steadiness of character. And 
this steadiness of character is of great impor- 
tance, in extricating one's self from difficulty. 
We may picture to ourselves the consequen- 
ces of different courses of conduct, and then 
compare the one with the other. In this way 
we may plan and contrive our escape from dif- 
ficulties. 

Once more: the imagination exerts a pow- 
erful influence upon the character, in regard to 
politeness. What is true politeness? It is in 
principle, a kind regard for the feelings of oth- 
ers, and a careful endeavor to promote their 
happiness. Now there is a vast difference be- 
tween one of a lively, and one of a dull im- 
agination, in this respect. The one can enter 
into your feelings at once, and can sympathize 
most truly with you. You have lost a friend, 
you are in great grief, your heart is overwhelm- 
ed with sorrow, you shrink from the approach 
and especially from the language of even your 
most intimate friend. A friend, who by the 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATTON. 315 

exercise of the imagination can enter into all 
your feelings, will not intrude any remarks', 
any general and common place observations. 
He will exercise his kindness and his sympa- 
thy, by sitting in silence by your side. Anoth- 
er, with equal warmth of affection , would 
wound your already afflicted heart, by his of- 
ficious kindness. And where is the difference. 
The one, from being possessed of a more 
lively, or a more delicate imagination, can en- 
ter more truly and fully into your feelings. — 
The christian rule of politeness is, to treat oth- 
ers, as you would wish to be treated by them, 
or to do as you would wish to be done by. 
This is usually called the golden rule of chris- 
tian justice. I call it the golden rule of chris- 
tian politeness. And this rule not only sanc- 
tions the use of the imagination, but compels 
us to use it. Here is a stranger takes up his 
residence by your side. This rule requires 
that you should treat this stranger as you would 
wish to be treated, in similar circumstances. 
But how can you determine this. You must, 
in imagination, place yourself in similar circum- 
stances, among strangers, consider what would 



316 young man's assistant. 

be your feelings, what would be your wishes, 
and then you are prepared to enter into, and 
sympathise with, and treat kindiy and prop- 
erly the stranger by your side. So too, here 
is your neighbor in affliction ; you are requir- 
ed to do as, under similar circumstances, you 
would be done by. How can you do this? — 
You can place yourself in imagination, in scenes 
of affliction and ask how you would wish to 
be treated. Then you will be qualified to act 
in accordance with gospel principles, to sym- 
pathize with the feelings of all around you, 
and to do by them as you would be done by. 

I have thus pointed out some of the ways, 
in which ttie imagination exerts an influence 
upon the character. I might have pointed out 
more fully than I have done, its evil influen- 
ces, but I have not room to describe them in 
full. A well cultivated, and well regulated 
imagination is of the utmost importance to the 
character, in a great variety of particulars. — 
On the other hand, a diseased, perverted or 
ill regulated imagination is destructive of all 
correctness and propriety of character. 

It now remains onlv, that I offer a few hints 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 317 

to aid you in your efforts to cultivate and regu- 
late the imagination. And here I would say 
first: — You must remember that the creations 
of the imagination are based on previously ac- 
quired knowledge. The more distinct, accu- 
rate and perfect your knowledge, so far as it 
goes, may be, the more accurate will be the 
creations of the imagination. For example, 
it is often said, by writers of all denominations, 
that, in order to enter into, and feel the full 
force of the instructions of the gospel, we 
must throw ourselves into the times and the 
feelings of the Jews and of those around Je- 
sus. But how is this to be done? The more 
accurate be our knowledge of Jewish history, 
and of the Hebrew peculiarities of character, 
the more we understand of Jewish prejudices 
and expectations, the better shall we be able 
to throw ourselves back into those times and 
feelings, the better shall we be able to enter 
into, and understand the instructions of the 
gospel. The first step then, in cultivating the 
imagination, is to be accurate in our knowledge, 
which is to serve as the basis, on which the 
creations of the imagination are to rest. 

St* 



318 

My second direction is, that in reading all 
argumentative works, you exercise your imag- 
ination, in bringing up to your mind's eye, par- 
ticular cases and instances, to verify the steps 
and conclusions of the argument. And so in 
reading a work upou abstract truth, verify the 
conclusions and principles, by applying them 
in practice to particular supposed cases. Are 
you reading an abstract statement of the na- 
ture of faith? Prove these statements, by ap- 
plying them to some supposed cases. So too, 
in reading descriptive scenes, fill out the de- 
scription by the exercise of the imagination. 
In reading historical works, pause and exercise 
the imagination, in picturing to the mind's eye 
the peculiarities of manners and customs of 
different periods and ages. In this way, what- 
ever may be the character of your reading, 
you may be exercising your imagination in a 
healthful and proper manner. 

My third direction is, that in reading ficti- 
tious writings, you exercise your own judg- 
ment and reason. Your imagination is natu- 
rally exercised in the reading itself; if you 
give loose reins to it, there is danger that your 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 319 

imagination will be indulged to excess, and 
will gain the mastery over your other powers. 
Exercise your reason then, and your judg- 
ment. Seek for principles, ask if these prin- 
ciples be sound and healthful. Jn this way, 
while you are exercising your imagination, you 
will, by this exercise of the reason and the 
judgment, keep it under restraint and regula- 
tion. 

Still further: in regard to the various strange 
phenomena, which are sometimes mentioned, 
such as Animal Magnetism or anv thing of that 
character, cherish the thought that you are in 
danger of being led away as the dupes of a 
disordered imagination, and that you are in 
danger of being misled by your lear of being 
duped. Hold yourself then carefully on your 
guard. Exercise the imagination. But exer- 
cise also the judgment and the reason, call up 
past experience, and observation. Be slow to 
believe, but at the same time hold yourself 
open to conviction when it can be based upon 
good and substantial evidence. 

I have thus spoken of the imagination. I 
would hope that my suggestions may aid you 



320 young man's assistant. 

in your progress of self-cultivation, and be in- 
strumental in securing^completeness and per- 
fection of character. 



LETTER X. 

INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 

Reasoning, argument, evidence — Introductory remarks 
on the importance and difficulty of the subject — The 
first object to be sought in all investigations is truth — 
The question whether men are responsible for their 
opinions, considered — Primitive truths — One is that 
every effect must have some adequate cause — This an 
instinctive principle — Another is that the evidence of 
the senses may be depended upon — Different instinc- 
tive principles stated — A test by which they may be 
known pointed out in a quotation — Different kinds of 
evidence considered — Mathematical, Probable, Histo- 
rical — The causes of difference of opinion — Men's 
wishes, men's pride of character, words are used in 
different senses — Men's passions and emotions have 
an influence upon their opinions. 

My Young Friends, 

The subject of the present letter, reason- 
ing, argument, evidence, is one which I trem- 
ble to approach. It is a subject so vast in its 
extent, and s*o important in its various relations 



322 young man's assistant. 

and bearings, that I fear I shall not be able 
to do it any thing, like justice, within ihe com- 
pass of a single letter. It is indeed a subject 
which would admit of, and which even de- 
mands, for a full discussion of all its various 
points, a whole volume. All that I can hope 
to do, is to throw out suggestions and awa- 
ken enquiry, in regard to some points of 
more immediate practical importance. It is 
however, a consolation here, as it has been 
during the whole course of these letters, that 
I am addressing thinking beings, in view of 
their own self-education, and that self- educa- 
tion is the result of the mental action exci- 
ted, rather than of the knowledge actually im- 
parted. 

I. The first position which I would estab- 
lish is, that in all questions of debate, in the 
ordinary duties of life, and in the various sub- 
jects, which may be presented in your read- 
ing, you should seek only the truth. Make 
this the primary point of all your investiga- 
tions, and free your minds, as far as possi- 
ble, from every influence which can, in any- 
way, interfere with your arriving at the truth. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 323 

This state of mind will exert a powerful in- 
fluence upon your process of investigation. 
And why so? I answer, that, in all your in- 
vestigations, you will estimate evidence ac- 
cording to its bearing upon the particular ob- 
ject you wish by that investigation to accom- 
plish. If you enter upon the examination of 
a subject, with a single desire to arrive at the 
truth in regard to it, then the questions you 
will ask in regard to any particular item of 
evidence, will be what is its true character, 
what is its intrinsic weight in the scale, and 
upon which side of the question it is to be 
ranked. But if you examine the same sub- 
ject, with the desire to find certain opinions 
true, the question you will ask in regard to 
any item of evidence, will be, does it, or 
does it not support that position? The same 
items of evidence then, you perceive, may 
appear to the mind to have very different 
bearings and to be of very different degrees 
of weight, according to the state of mind in 
which it is examined. Let then the love of 
truth be the prevailing influence in all your 
investigations. But in regard to many ques- 



324 young man's assistant. 

tions it will be asked, what is meant by truth. 
I will illustrate. An individual asserts that a 
certain doctrine of religion is true. You are 
awakened to investigation, to enquire if it be 
true. What in this case is the object of 
your investigation? It is simply to ascertain 
a fact, and that is, whether the propositions 
in which this doctrine is expressed, do ex- 
press the instructions of scripture upon the 
point. This is the single and simple point 
of enquiry. If you find that they do so ex- 
press the instructions of scripture, then you 
have found it to be true. If you have found that 
they do not so express them you have found 
that they are not true. This is one case, take 
another. One asserts that the Sub Treasury sys 
tern, so called, is well calculated to promote 
the best interests of the country. You exam- 
ine, wiih a sincere desire to form a riiiht judg- 
ment. But what do you seek here? It is 
not a matter of fact, which you wish to veri- 
fy, for the scheme has never been tried. What 
is it then? You are seeking to form a right, 
a correct opinion, as to the probable opera- 
tion of the scheme. This cannot in strict- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 325 

ness of language, be said to be seeking the 
truth. But yet the state of mind is the same 
in the one case, as in the other; in the one 
case you seek to divest yourself of all secta- 
rian prejudices, and even of all sectarian wish- 
es, of all strong desires to find one side of the 
question or the other true. You endeavor 
to investigate impartially, and to give every 
circumstance, and every iiem of evidence, 
its just and proper place and weight. So, in 
the other case, you endeavor to divest your- 
self of all party prejudice, and even of all par- 
ty wishes. You endeavor to investigate 
impartially, to ij;ive every circumstance and 
every hem of evidence its proper place and 
just vvtighu The state of mind, and the 
modes of investigation are the same in 
both cases, and therefore we call the latter, 
as well as the former, a love of the truth. 
Yet it is, strictly speaking, only a desire to 
form a correct judgment, as to a future proba- 
bility. And, in all cases of investigation and 
ordinary conduct, this state of mind is im- 
portant, although it might, in some cases, be 
very properly called by another name, if 



326 young man's assistant. 

we were looking at the result, at the object 
sought, rather than at the state of mind in 
which the investigation is pursued. I repeat 
then my position, let Hip prevailing influence 
in ail your investigations be a love of truth. 
But here, perhaps, an important question will 
occur to your minds. It is this: Are men 
responsible for their opinions ? This is a 
question which has occasioned much discus- 
sion. And yet, upon examining the question, 
I have been surprised to find that the argu- 
ments and admissions of the advocates of one 
side of the question, when compared with 
those of the other, shew that both parties are 
really of the same opinion. The fact is, that 
the question admits of two directly opposite 
answers. In the first place, strictly speak- 
ing, and regarded merely as an abstract ques- 
tion, the answer must be that men are not 
responsible for their opinions. The deci- 
sions of the judgment must follow the pre- 
ponderance of evidence. This is an abstract 
and incontrovertible truth. If two and two 
appear to the mind to make four, the mind 
must asseut to it; it caaaot ha otherwise. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 327 

There is no liberty to do as one would wish, 
and, consequently, there is no responsibility. 
For the correctness of this position the advo- 
cates of one side of l lie question contend 
strenuously, and the correctness of this po- 
sition the advocates of the other side of the 
question readily admit. Here then the ab- 
stract question is at once settled, that the 
judgment must follow the preponderance of 
evidence, as that evidence is presented to the 
mind; and that, consequently, belief is not 
voluntary, and there can be no responsibility 
in regard to it. But the question presents 
another aspect, and that is, its practical as- 
pect. The advocates of the affirmative of 
the question will say, if you allow yourself to 
be influenced, in your examination of evi- 
dence, by prejudice, by strong desires to find 
one side of the question true and (he other 
ftiUe, if you aie not thoroughly faithful and 
impartial in the examinations; if in these, or 
in any similar ways, you allow your judgment 
to he warped, then verily, you are guilty; and, 
if you carefully guard against all these sources 
of error, then are you praiseworthy, and 



3*23 young man's assistant. 

iherefore, in regard to all <hpse points, you 
are responsible. And Lltere are so numy 
sources of error, t f ibis kind, ilvai pranically, 
it amounts to the same as a full responsibility 
— in regard to our opi lions — thai in actual 
life, we are and ought always to feel ourselves 
responsible. For, although, abstractly speak- 
ing, the judgment must follow the prepon- 
derance of evidence, and is not. therefore re- 
sponsible, yet, practically speaking, we can- 
not be certain that this preponderance does 
not result from our prejudices, r*f from ihe 
slight and partial manner in v\ hich we have 
examined, and therefore we ought ever to 
cherish a feeling of responsibility. Such is 
the argument of the advocates of ihe negative 
of the question, and such their conclusion. 
And this conclusion, their opponents most 
fully and readily admit. Consequently ycu 
will find that all are, in reality, and in sub- 
stance, agreed, that the question admits of two 
answers; that in the abstract it is true, that 
men are not responsible for their opinions; 
but, that in practice there is a responsibility 
in regard to the state of mind in which an ex- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 329 

amination is conducted and the manner in 
which it is pursued, which is sufficient to 
cover the whole ground, and impose the ne- 
cessity of cherishing a feeling of responsi- 
bility. 

In the investigation of truth there are sev- 
eral things to be considered. And first, there 
are certain primative truths, as ihey are some- 
times called, or as I should call them, innate 
principles of belief. They are inherent laws, 
established in the very constitution of our 
minds, and, in accordance with which, our 
minds operate in regard to belief. One of 
these innate principles" or laws I have before 
alluded to, and that is, an instinctive belief, 
that every effect must have a cause, and a 
cause adequate to the effect. This I say, is 
an inherent instinctive principle of our nature. 
No human being, with the usual endowments 
of a human being, is found without it. The 
infant, in his earliest notices of things around 
him, manifests the influence of this principle. 
No argument, no process of reasoning can 
make this belief stronger, no illustration can 
make it clearer. The simple annunciation of 

£8* 



330 young man's assistant. 

the principle appeals to every man's own 
consciousness. And lhat is ihe end of the 
matter. Now suppose a position is laid 
down which contradicts this principle. What 
are we to do? We cannot refute such a po- 
sition by general argument. We have only 
to appeal to men's consciousness. The Athe- 
istic infidel, for example, says thai the man 
is a fool, who believes in the existence of a 
God. You have never seen him, you can- 
not feel him, he is not in any way subjected 
to the cognizance of your senses, you cannot 
prove his existence, and th' j r^fore you are a 
fool to believe in such a being. Such is the 
position, and such the argument. How do 
you meet that argument? Do you go on in 
argument to prove from the works of nature 
that there must have.be^n d^&i^n hi contriv- 
ing these? that there ru'tsi have been a de- 
signer and contriver. h Qip h.i - ycm 
accomplish nothing;, because he d-fres nor <id- 
mit your evidence a> beftrkig upon the point, 
he may say all this is true, I admit the whole, 
but still \ add, I have never seen your God 
and therefore I cannot believe in his exist- 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 331 

ence. And what will you say now? You 
have only to appeal to himself, to his obser- 
vation of human nature, to his own conscious- 
ness, to his actual practice. For example, 
suppose your opponent be a father, appeal to 
his observation, tell him to take his child to 
one of our manufacturing establishments, to 
watch his astonishment, and when that child 
eagerly asks him, "Father, who made all this?" 
let the father calmly tell him that we have no 
reason to believe that any one contrived and 
made the whole. And when he meets with 
incredulity on the part of the child, let him 
admit that thought, so withering to a parent's 
heart, that the child of his affection is a fool. 
In children you see this principle more strik- 
ingly manifested than in others. You all le- 
member the story of George Washington, and 
his father, and his little garden with the letters 
George in one of his beds. And you remem- 
ber his incredulity. In this way you may ap- 
peal to his observation, to prove that men are 
so constituted, that they must believe that ev- 
ery event has a cause adequate to the effect. 
You may appeal to his own consciousness 



33S young man's assistant. 

in regard to other things at least, if not in 
regard to this very point. For myself, I do 
not believe there ever was an atheist in feeling 
and in reality. Men have, I know, argued 
against the existence of the Deity; but I do 
not believe that any one could so entirely di- 
vest himself of this instinctive principle of 
belief, as to be free from any feeling, or fear, 
or suspicion, that after all, this fair universe 
must have had a creator. 

You may appeal to his own every day con- 
duct. He believes that the wife of his bosom, 
the children of his affection, the friends of 
his attachment, do love him. But why does 
he believe this? Has lie ever seen their love? 
Can he tell what it is, and what it looks like? 
No. Why then does he believe? Their 
conduct towards him — in its kindness, in its 
devotion — is regarded as an effect. And, 
under the instinctive feeling of our natures, 
he believes that this effect must have had a 
cause, and that it must have been a cause ad- 
equate to the effect. Hatred, indifference — 
the>e are not causes adequate to the effect; 
there must have been love as the only cause 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 333 

adequate to the effect. Thus you perceive 
that a proposition which contradicts this innate 
principle of our natures, is to be met only by 
an appeal to this principle, as universal and 
not to be gainsaid. 

I have dwelt upon this point for two reasons. 
In the first place, it illustrates the nature of 
innate principles of belief, and, in the second 
because, I have known of young men, who 
have been religiously educated, yielding to 
atheistical sophistry. Their remarks have 
been — "we were taught to believe in a God, 
but that is a mere prejudice of childhood. — 
You cannot prove to us that there is a God, 
and therefore we cannot believe in his exis- 
tence." The question has been asked, how 
shall we guard our young men against such 
dangers? Shall not increased efforts be made 
in their religious training? I say yes — but I 
say also let increased efforts be made in regard 
to their intellectual education. Let them 
understand the principles of belief, the nature 
of evidence, and the proper modes of reason- 
ing, and then will they be guarded, in some 
measure, against the power of such mere 
tophistry. 



334 young man's assistant. 

I will, for the further illustration of this 
put of my subject, dwell alittle upon another 
innate principle of belief. Itisthis — that the 
evidence of our senses is worthy of confi- 
dence, in regard to the existence of external 
objects in ordinary circumstances. For ex- 
ample — I see ladies and gentlemen, in an 
assembly — or, at least, I think I do. It is 
an innate principle that I should believe, 
therefore, that ladies and gentlemen are in 
that assembly. 

This, you will perhaps say, is so evident 
that it cannot be denied. And yet there have 
been philosophers, who have undertaken to 
prove that ail this is a deception, that our 
senses are not to be depended upon, that there 
are no such things as external objects, that we 
have in our minds ideas of men, trees, beasts, 
houses, and indeed of all external objects, 
but that there are no such things in existence 
as these objects. Such is the position; — it 
is supported by very strong arguments. And 
how are we going to refute this position? It 
can be done only by an appeal to this innate 
principle of belief, of which I am speaking, 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 333 

that the testimony of our senses is worthy of 
confidence. 

You cannot refute the position by argument. 
You may say to the atheist, you cannot 
prove by argument that a man stands before 
you. Just try it. — Suppose there were a 
blind man with you : how could you prove to 
him that a man is standing before you? You 
could not prove it by argument ; all you could 
do would be to lead him up to the man, and 
let him ascertain by the sense of feeling. — 
But if the senses are not to be depended upon, 
this is no proof. Thus you perceive that 
here, as before, your only way to meet and 
refute a position, which contradicts this innate 
principle of belief, is to make a direct appeal 
to it as an innate and universal principle. 

I have said enough, I would hope, to illus- 
trate the nature and use of these- innate prin- 
ciples of belief. Before leaving this part of 
my subject, however, I will enumerate some 
of these principles, and offer a quotation in 
point iri regard to the qualities by which they 
may be known. The principles which are 
most generally admitted are these ; 



336 

1. A belief in our own existence. 

2. A confidence in the evidence of our 
senses. 

3. A confidence in our own mental pro- 
cesses — that facts, events, for instance, sug- 
gested to us by our memory, really occurred. 

4. A belief in our personal identity. 

5 A conviction that every effect must 
have a cause, and a cause adequate to the 
effect. 

6 A confidence in the uniformity of nature. 
Such are the innate principles of belief 

which arc most generally admitted. 

^Various characters have been proposed 
by which theseinnate principles may be known. 
One of those given by Father Buffier appears 
to be the best, and to be alone sufficient to 
ide-ntify them. It is this — that their practical 
influence extends even to those persons who 
affect io dispute their authority ; in other 
afi ; li.it in all the affairs <>f life, the most 
sceptical philosopher acts as much as the mass 
ta bkind u.po.n the absolute belief of these 
hp Let a larsie rock be rolling down a 
declivity and coming with great velocity , to 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 337 

all appearance, directly upon such a sceptical 
philosopher, and he will forget his theory that 
this is no rock but only an idea; he will try to 
avoid the danger just as much as any other 
man. Let him be taking cognizance of an 
offence committed against him ten years ago, 
and he never doubts that he is still the person 
against whom the offence was committed, how 
ably so ever he may argue against personal 
identity. Let him lay plans for future com- 
fort, and it is done under the conviction that 
he is still to continue the individual who may 
enjoy them. Has a building started up upon 
his premises, which he did not expect to see; 
he immediately asks who erected it there, and 
he would scarcely be satisfied to be told that 
the thing had appeared without any known 
cause, merely by a fortuitous combination of 
atoms. Thus you perceive that whatever may 
be a man's theory or argument, these princi- 
ples do exert a practical influence upon his 
conduct, thereby showing that they are innate 
principles, interwoven into the very constitu- 
tion of his nature, and not dependent upon 
his education. It is of importance that, in 

29 



338 young man's assistant. 

the investigation or defence of truth, you 
should bear in mind these instinctive princi- 
ples of belief ; otherwise you may find your- 
self arguing against positions and principles 
which cannot be refuted by argument, when 
your course should be simply an appeal to 
these innate principles. 

I pass now to the consideration of another 
but kindred topic, to the considerations of dif- 
ferent kinds of evidence as appropriate to dif- 
ferent subjects of belief. And first, there is 
mathematical evidence. It is peculiar in its 
character, and is applicable only to a peculiar 
class of subjects. But, when it is applied, its 
conclusions amount to demonstration, absolute, 
positive demonstration which cannot be doubt- 
ed, or gainsaid. It can be proved, for exam- 
ple, that in a right angled triangle, the square of 
the hypothenuse, or of the longest side, is 
equal to the sum of the squares of the two 
other sides. This, I say, can be proved. But 
how is it proved? It is by mathematical de- 
monstration. Certain self-evident mathemat- 
ical principles, or axioms, are taken as t«be start- 
ing pointSj from these certain inferences are 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 339 

! 

i drawn, which result in the demonstration of 
other and before unknown mathematical truths. 
Then these are taken as a new basis, and 
inferences are drawn from them, which result 
in the demonstration of other and before es- 
tablished mathematical truths, and so on. — 
Each conclusion is a demonstration, and con- 
sequently, when once established, may, ever 
after be taken as a principle fixed and incontro- 
vertible, and may be used as the basis of fur- 
ther reasoning. In regard to this kind of rea- 
soning, there is no possibility of being led 
astray by the influences of one's passions, 
prejudices, or wishes. The course, from the 
starting point to the conclusion, is direct, and 
there is no opening for the influence of feel- 
ings or desires. In the second place, if there 
should be an error in the conclusion, it may be 
certainly known, by the individual himself, 
that it is an error, because he may retrace his 
steps and, in that way, detect the error. In 
the third place, there is no chance for differ- 
ence of opinion in regard to the conclusion, 
you have only to retrace the steps and recon- 
struct the demonstration or solution, in order to 



340 young man's assistant. 

arrive at a correct conclusion. There is no 
chance for argument, bickering or contention. 
Such is mathematical evidence. By this spe- 
cies of evidence certain things can be proved, 
demonstrated, and the truth of them put be- 
yond a doubt. But then, you perceive, that 
it is only to a peculiar class of subjects that 
this reasoning can be applied. You cannot 
prove that Alexander once lived, you cannot 
prove that Buonaparte conquered much of 
Europe, by mathematical evidence. These 
are subjects which, if proved at all, must be 
proved by an altogether different kind of evi- 
dence. If you attempt to prove the truth of 
a position by mathematical evidence, and do 
not succeed, the position itself may be true, 
although its truth is to be proved by other and 
a different kind of evidence. 

Then there is probable evidence. I will 
illustrate this kind of evidence, by reference 
to a theological subject, which has occurred in 
my own reading, within a short time. There 
are some, who doubt whether Moses wrote 
the first five books of the Old Testament, gen- 
erally called the Peutatench. They contend 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 341 

that these books are of a later origin, were 
written by some one else and ascribed to Mo- 
ses, in order to secure for them, in the eyes of 
the Jewish people, the sanction of authority 
and antiquity. Now bow is the objection met, 
and by what sort of evidence and of reason 
can it be proved, that Moses wrote these books? 
You cannot prove it by mathematical reason- 
ing. You might expect perhaps to prove it 
by historical evidence, by the testimony eith- 
er direct or indirect, of contemporaneous wri- 
ters, but in this particular case this cannot 
be done, because tiiere are no witnesses, so 
old as these, provided Moses was the author 
of them. That he was the author is proved, 
then, only by probable evidence, and proba- 
ble reasoning. And now, just follow the 
process of probable reasoning, which is pur 
sued. First, it is admitted, as a fact, that 
there have existed, from the earliest age*, 
among the Jews, institutions of a peculiar 
character, embodying and sustaining a pure 
theology. From the earliest period, in which 
the Jews appeared in history, they are found 
in possession of the doctrine of one all per- 



342 young man's assistant. 

vading spirit, as God, presiding over all things , 
in distinction from the many local and national 
Gods of the nations around them. Then 
too, the Jewish notions of the character and 
attributes of this God, are pure, compared 
with the views which appear in the literature 
and history of other nations. Here then is a 
historical fact, admitted by all. This fact 
must be accounted for, in some way or other. 
Now, if we admit that Moses wrote these 
books, it serves to explain this peculiar fact, 
in a very natural and easy manner, and, there- 
fore, it is probable, from this circumstance, 
that he did write them. But suppose he did 
not, still you must account for the peculiar 
institutions and theological views of the na- 
tion. Suppose then that these books were 
written by some one in the time of the Judg- 
es. But these limes were disturbed and un- 
settled, not times for establishing peculiar 
laws, and introducing peculiar views of The- 
ology. And then, too, these times were too 
near the time of the alleged ministry of Mo- 
ses, to admit of a fabricated account of events, 
which, if real, must have been matter of great 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 343 

notoriety,and within the recollection of many. 
These are the objections to the position that 
these books were written in the times of the 
Judges — objections, which render it more 
probable that Moses wrote them, than that 
they should have been then written, by some 
one else, and passed off as his. 

But, suppose we come down still later to 
the time of the Kings. There an insurmount- 
able objection at once arises. The whole 
character and bearing of the Jewish institu- 
tions, as described in the first five books of 
scripture, are thoroughly republican, and of 
course, when there was a monarch, the time 
had passed away for any such system to be 
devised. If we come down later, to the 
time of Ezra, or of Nehemiah, we are met 
still with objections. In the first place, the 
people then manifested a great regard for 
the authority of these laws, which could not 
have been the case, had they been a fabrica- 
tion, then, for the first time, brought forward. 
Still further, we know that, soon after this 
period, these books were translated into 
Greek, and we find, that, in many instances, 



344 young man's assistant. 

this Greek translation must have followed a 
different Hebrew copy from that which we 
now have, and this shews us that at that time 
there must have been different copies. These 
copies being transcripts of the original, would 
not have been multiplied, had not the books 
been well known and favorably regarded. — 
We conclude therefore, as the result of 
this whole process, as the result of these 
several probabilities, that it is more probable 
that Moses was the author, than it is to sup- 
pose that they could have been written at any 
later period. This, you perceive, is a speci- 
men of probable reasoning. And you will 
notice that it differs from mathematical rea- 
soning. In mathematical reasoning each step 
is proved conclusively and satisfactorily, and 
is of itself absolutely true, whether the final 
conclusion be true or not. In probable rea- 
soning, the different points of argument are 
not really steps in a regular process, follow- 
ing each other in the natural order. They 
are simply different items of evidence, no one 
of which does, in itself, prove any thing, but 
■the cumulative force of which when taken 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 345 

together does give to the final conclusion a 
strong degree of probability. You see too in 
this, that, unlike mathematical reasoning, there 
is, at every step, danger of being led astray 
by the influence of prejudices, pre-conceived 
opinions, feelings and desires. These may 
cause one view to appear to one mind the 
more probable, and another view to appear 
to another mind more probable. You per- 
ceive, too, that here is room for the individu- 
al to be in error, and not be able himself to 
detect his errors, because, as he reviews his 
course of reasoning, the probabilities will ap- 
pear to his mind as at first. You see, still 
further, that there may be room, at every 
successive step of the process, and also in 
regard to the final conclusion, for difference 
of opinion. Such is probable reasoning. It 
is the kind of reasoning arid of evidence most 
commonly employed, that is, it is applicable 
to a greater variety of subjects. Look into 
the orations of antiquity. Listen to the de- 
bates of any modern legislative assembly, or 
to the arguments addressed to a jury, and 
you will find the whole a process of probable 



346 young man's assistant. 

reasoning. So too this is the kind of reason- 
ing and of evidence which is brought forward 
in the pulpit, in stating the evidences, in set- 
ting forth the doctrines, and in urging the 
practical principles of our religion. And so 
too in all the ordinary walks of life, proba- 
ble reasoning must be employed, and proba- 
ble evidence must be relied on. 

Still further, there is Historical evidence, 
differing in some respects from Probable. 
But as this is so seldom employed in the or- 
dinary pursuits of life and is so intimately 
connected with probable evidence in secur- 
ing conclusions I need not dwell at length up- 
on it. 

It is important to know when and how to 
use these different kinds of evidence. Are 
you engaged in business, and are you called 
to balance your account with one from whose 
account you differ in the result, when the 
items are the same. What evidence do you 
seek, and what course do you pursue, to con- 
vince either yourself or him? You simply 
retrace your steps and repeat your process. 
Are you engaged in an argument with another 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTITATION. 347 

in an ordinary debate? Here you should un- 
derstand and be able to apply probable rea- 
soning, to point out clearly and establish fully 
the real probabilities, on the various points 
which are made — to detect fallacy, and to 
point out the true application of the various 
items of probable evidence, in the establish- 
ment of the final conclusion. You should 
then endeavor to understand the nature, the 
appropriate subjects, and the right application 
of these different kinds of evidence, and of 
reasoning, as applied to different subjects. 

I am next to point out and illustrate the 
process of reasoning. In a process of reason- 
ing, there are three different operations of the 
mind, that should be attended to. First, 
there is simple apprehension, as it is called 
in books upon logic, which is simply the con- 
ception which the mind may form of any sub- 
ject or objects. Second, there is the judg- 
ment, as it is called in logic, that is, the com- 
paring together two ideas and pronouncing 
that they either agree or disagree; or rather, 
I should say, pronouncing upon ihe relation, 
whatever it may be, which they sustain to 



348 young man's assistant. 

each other; and, third, there is reasoning, or 
the passing from one judgment to another, 
founded upon or resulting from the first. Let 
me illustrate by a case taken from the books. 
In Whately's Logic I find the following pro- 
cess of reasoning, stated in exact logical or 
syllogistical form: 

"Every dispensation of providence is bene- 
ficial." 

Afflictions are dispensations of providence. 
Therefore, afflictions are beneficial. Now in 
the first place there is simple apprehension, that 
is, the mind must form an idea of what is meant 
by the expression, "dispensations of provi- 
dence," and the term "beneficial" ? We 
must then compare the term beneficial with 
our ideas of dispensations, so as to be able to 
pronounce whether they agree or not, wheth- 
er the latter may be affirmed of the other or 
not, and, if so, whether it may be affirmed 
universally, or only with limitations. Here 
then are the two first steps — we have formed 
clear ideas of the meaning of the terms, and, 
by comparing the two, we have formed a judg- 
ment in regard to the relation which they bear 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 349 

to each. The third step is proceeding from 
one judgment to another, founded upon and 
growing out of the first. In the process un- 
der examination, the first conclusion is, that 
the dispensations of providence are benefi- 
cial. But the suggestion is made that afflic- 
tions are dispensations of providence. Then 
we pass on to the next conclusion, growing 
out of or resulting directly from the last, that 
afflictions are beneficial. Now suppose this 
process were to be carried still farther, and 
suppose another suggestion be made, that 
we should be truly grateful for all benefits 
bestowed by God. Then another conclu- 
sion would follow, growing out of the last, 
that we should be grateful to God for every 
afflictive dispensation of his providence. I 
do not say that this process is correct. I 
have brought it forward simply to illustrate 
the mode in which a course of reasoning pro- 
ceeds, when we are enabled to proceed regu- 
larly. Here the first position, that the dis- 
pensations of providence are beneficial, may 
be regarded as the premises from which are 
deduced all the succeeding conclusions. If 

30 



350 young man's assistant. 

you can induce an opponent to admit the truth 
of these premises in all the length and breadth 
of this general statement, then it would seem 
that he must follow on to the final conclusion. 
But, suppose it were proposed to meet this 
process of argument, how could it be done ? 
It might be done in some one of these several 
ways. In the first place, the premises might 
be questioned. It might be said that the 
proposition is not universally true, that there 
are some dispensations which are not ordered 
as benefits, and are not to be regarded as 
benefits; they are ordered as avenging pun- 
ishments, and should be regarded as such. 
Then it might be said that afflictions fall un- 
der this class of dispensations, and are not 
therefore to be regarded as beneficial. Then, 
still further, it might be argued that humility 
and penitence, and not gratitude, are the ap- 
propriate states of mind under these dispen- 
sations, and therefore we are not called upon 
to be grateful for afflictions — but to be peni- 
tent under them. This is one way in which 
the argument might be met. Then again, it 
might be met in this way: The truth of the 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 351 

first proposition might be admitted, and then 
it might be argued that there are many afflic- 
tions which are not to be regarded as dispen- 
sations of providence; that much of sickness, 
and often times even death, is but the natural 
result of our violation of the laws of our sys- 
tem, and, consequently, that it does not fol- 
low from the first position, that we ought to 
be grateful for these afflictions. I would re- 
peat again the caution, that I am not express- 
ing my opinion upon the truth of either side 
of this question. I am only illustrating pro- 
cesses of argument and counter argument. 
Suppose then, a question before you for de- 
bate were, ^.G'ught men to cherish gratitude 
to God for the afflictions to which they may 
be subjected in life? " You see how the one 
side and the other might be supported. — 
There would undoubtedly other arguments 
suggest themselves to other minds, as for ex- 
ample one might argue from the known good 
effects of afflictions upon the character, that 
we should be grateful, and then another might 
answer that, in some cases, at least, if not in 
many, the known effects are evil, being des- 



352 young man's assistant. 

pair and even derangement, and, consequent- 
ly, that the conclusion of the other is unsound, 
for that we are called upon to be grateful only 
for good influences, and only in cases where 
these are manifested, and not for afflictions, 
which may be followed by evil as well as by 
good effects. 

Upon these illustrations, it is obvious, to 
remark, that, in making an 'argument and es- 
tablisbing its truth, you are to look at two 
poi'.Hs. First, you are to look at your pre- 
mises, to see that they are perfectly true, in 
all points, well supported, and that they cover 
the very ground which you wish to occupy 
and not t-ome other ground nearly resembling 
it ; and that they cover the whole of that 
ground. In the second place, you are to look 
at your conclusions, from these premises, to 
see that they are legitimately drawn and well 
supported. Then you are to look in a differ- 
ent direction, to see if there may not be other 
premises, established by your opponent, and 
other arguments draw from them, which, al- 
lowing all that you have said, to be true, do 
yet over balance and outweigh your 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIYATION. 353 

merits. So in replying to an opponent, you 
are first to examine bis premises, it may be 
that if you admit these you must admit his 
conclusions. It may be therefore that you 
will be called upon to direct the whole force 
of your argument against the correctness of 
the premises; and it may be too, that you 
will be able to point out a fault in these, which 
will invalidate his whole argument, and save 
you the trouble of going further. 

Or, perhaps, you may admit the correctness 
of the premises, and then may be able to point 
out some incorrectness in the drawing of in- 
ferences from these premises. Or, it may be, 
that you will admit the correctness of his whole 
argument, and then overpower the whole by 
still stronger arguments of a different character. 
It is often the case, that an essential circum- 
stance is lost sight of in the argument, which, 
by being brought to light, gives an entirely dif- 
ferent view of the whole. For example, sup- 
pose that in England the question were pro- 
posed as to the expediency of giving a good 
thorough education to the lower orders of so- 
ciety. It is opposed by such an argument as 

30* 



354 



YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT. 



this: Society could not exist without some to 
perform the menial services, which are now 
performed by these lower orders. But all past 
experience and observation have shown, that, 
when an individual of these orders has acquired 
a good education, he is puffed up and will not 
consent to perform these labors. Therefore, 
were all to be educated, these labors would be 
generally neglected, and society must suffer 
— consequently, it would be inexpedient to 
educate the lower orders of society. Such is 
the argument in opposition. Now, in answer 
to such an argument, it might be said, we ad- 
mit the truth of the first position, that these 
menial services and duties are necessary. We 
admit the second position that all past experi- 
ence and observation show that, when one of 
the lower orders is well educated, he is puffed 
up and unwilling to perform these duties. But 
we deny the correctness of the inference from 
these two positions, because an essential cir- 
cumstance is over looked. In past times, the 
reason that one of the lower orders, when edu- 
cated, was puffed up, was that by that education 
he was distinguished from ; and rendered superior 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 355 

to, his brethren. But, in time to come, should 
this education become universal, which is pro- 
posed, this distinction will be removed, and all 
will be alike— therefore, although the premises 
;are correct, the inference is not to be relied 
upon. The argument might be answered in 
this way, — then other arguments might be 
brought forward to shew the probability of a 
different result. 

I have thus endeavored to illustrate the pro- 
cess of reason, of argument and debate. 

I will now proceed to notice some of the 
causes of differences of opinion. It sometimes 
seems to us strange that two men on reading or 
hearing the same argument, should go away 
with entirely different, it may be with opposite 
impressions in regard to it. And we are some- 
times inclined to believe that one or the other 
cannot be honest in his opinions. But a little 
thought will convince us that this is a very un- 
just, as well as a very unkind conclusion, and 
this will the more fully appear, if we look at 
some of the causes of differences of opinion. 

I. In the first place, men's wishes and in- 
terests have a great influence over their opin- 



355 young man's assistant. 

ions. Suppose that an individual believed 
that it would be greatly for bis interest to bold 
certain opinions upon political subjects, on 
points in regard to which he had before but 
vague notions. What course would he pursue, 
naturally, I mean, and without being aware of 
any undue influence? Would he not dwell 
much upon the arguments which are urged on 
that side of the question to which his interest 
inclined him? Most surely he would, and 
the consequence would be, that arguments 
would have, to his mind, an entirely different 
appearance from what they would under other 
circumstances. 

II. Then, too, a man's pride of character 
and of reputation has often a great weight and 
influence upon his opinions. If he has been 
the champion of certain opinions, and has for 
years stood forth before the community as such, 
he cannot view arguments upon the subject as 
he otherwise would. A few years since, there 
was a public discussion in one of the country 
towns of Massachusetts, between two clergy- 
men of different sentiments, in regard to a 
point on which they differed. One of them 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTiVATION. 357 

stated in a public paper that he should go to 
that discussion with a perfect devotion to truth, 
with a single desire to establish or to learn the 
truth, and with a perfect willingness to make 
acknowledgment of his past errors, should he 
be convinced. I have no reason to doubt that 
he honestly thought that he should do so. And 
yet, from my own observation of human na- 
ture, and especially of the operations of my own 
mind, I believe it to be utterly impossible that 
he could do so. He had been known for years 
as the champion of peculiar views, — he had 
acquired a reputation for his skill in their de- 
fence. At the debate, his friends would rally 
around him, looking to him as their champion. 
Under such circumstances, what would be the 
operation of his mind upon hearing an oppo- 
nent's argument ? It would not be a care- 
ful examination of that argument, to see if it 
were true or not; but only an examination 
to see how it could best be answered. — 
Then, too, he is immediately to follow in a re- 
ply. Would his pride of character — of repu- 
tation permit him to rise and say frankly to 
that argument, I cannot make a reply ? Most 



358 young man's assistant. 

surely not. As for myself, I think that I can 
read the arguments of an opponent in my 
study, where there is no eye upon me but that 
of the Being to whom I am accountable, with 
a simple desire to know the truth. But I do 
not believe that I could engage in a public de- 
bate with such feelings. 

III. Again, words are used in different sen- 
ses, and this gives rise to differences of opin- 
ions. It is not what a hook or an argument 
actually expresses, but what it suggests to the 
mind of the reader, which determines its ef- 
fect on his mind. But words may be used by 
the writer or speaker, in one sense, which have 
always been used by the hearer in a different 
sense. I once knew a singular instance of this. 
A very pious and devout man was speaking 
against dancing schools. A young friend un- 
dertook to defend them. In his defence, he 
said that he thought that there was no place- 
in which young ladies and gentlemen acquired 
so-much grace — using the term grace to express 
the idea ol gracefulness in attitude, — motion, 
and manners. The oilier, who had always 
used the word grace in a reliuious sense, was 



INTELLECTUAL SELF- CULTIVATION. 359 

horror struck at the suggestion. Ck Go to the 
dancing school", lie exclaimed, " for grace ! 
Rather resort to the closet and to prayer." 
Here was a very striking result, — both were 
honest, — but they used a single word only, in 
different senses. Had there been no explana- 
tion, with what prejudices might each have left 
the other! What prejudices might the pious 
and devout person have carried away in regard 
to the religious feelings of the other, who was 
of a different denomination from himself! In- 
deed, so often have I found this, the using of 
the same word in different senses, giving rise 
to contentions and disputes, that I have been 
inclined to think that a very large proportion 
of our difficulties arise from this source. 

IV. Once more, men's passions and emotions 
have a powerful influence upon their opinions. 
It is in this way: Men's minds are affected in 
a long process of reasoning or argument, by 
what, in the course of that argument, most ar- 
rests and fixes their attention. But the pas- 
sions and feelings and emotions of a man have 
a powerful influence in fixing the mind upon 
which, in the Ergument, may be in accordance 



360 young man's assistant. 

with their feelings and emotions. This cir- 
cumstance, therefore, may occasion some ar- 
guments to come before the mind more promi- 
nently and to remain longer in view than oth- 
ers, — consequently some will make a deep im- 
pression, whilst others will be forgotten. And 
as different men may be under the influence 
of different emotions, so very different impres- 
sions may be made upon the minds of differ- 
ent individuals by the same book, argument, 
discourse, or process of reasoning. 

Thus, you perceive, that it is not so strange 
that men should differ in opinion, and that hon- 
estly too, without being conscious of being un- 
der any undue influence, and after an equally 
careful investigation. 

I have thus, my young friends, offered a few 
hints and suggestions upon the subject of in- 
tellectual self-education, which, I would hope, 
may serve to aid you in your endeavors. I 
have dwelt longer upon the subject than I 
otherwise should have done, because I have 
thought that there are hints, important and 
practical, contained in books upon mental Phi- 
losophy, which ought to be laid open to all. 



INTELLECTUAL SELF-CULTIVATION. 361 

I have never seen any reason why a young 
man who is engaged in agriculture, mechanical 
or mercantile pursuits, should not study men- 
tal Philosophy, and form the habit of watching 
and scrutinizing the operations of his own mind, 
as well as the professional man. My desire is 
to awaken every young man, whatever his pur- 
suits may be, to a full faith in himself as an in- 
tellectual, moral, and spiritual being, and to 
give some assistance in all efforts at self-culti- 
vation. I have, in these letters, endeavored to 
impress your minds with a just sense of the im- 
portance of the season of youth, to point out to 
you the true object of life, to guard you against 
some injurious mistakes to which you are ex- 
posed, and to awaken you to a watchful study 
of your own minds. I have also pointed out 
to you some of the sources of moral danger, 
and it now remains only that, in a closing let- 
ter, I should endeavor to impress upon your 
minds the necessity of religion as the crown 
and completion of your whole character. 

You may perhaps ask why I have entered 
no more fully into the details and processes of 
moral self-cultivation? My answer is, that I 

31 



362 young man's assistant. 

know of no sure, sound, and enduring morality, 
but that which is prompted by religious mo- 
tives, based upon religious principles, and guid- 
ed by the instructions of religion. To enter 
into the details and processes of moral self-cul- 
tivation when viewed in this light, would re- 
quire a volume, and that volume would be truly 
a religious work. I have thought it best there- 
fore to speak upon the necessity of religion — 
and leave my readers to their own religious 
teachers for counsel in regard to the details 
and processes of religious and moral self-cul- 
tivation. 



LETTER XI. 

THE NECESSITY QE RELIGION. 

Introduction — The proposition stated that religion is ab- 
solutely necessary to man's highest improvement and 
greatest happiness — This proposition explained — The 
argument — that man's highest improvement and best 
happiness is secured only by the proper cultivation 
and development of all the various parts of his nature — > 
all the tendencies and capacities of his soul — This il- 
lustrated — The position stated that man has a spiritual 
nature — Conscience- — the feeling of reverence and 
devotion, and a longing for the absolute and the perfect 
elements of spiritual nature — The cultivation of these 
not identical with intellectual improvement— /The con- 
clusion drawn from these premises — An appeal to the 
young — Religion needful to the formation of afulland 
perfect character — necessary to the enjoyment of full 
and perfect happiness — peculiarly necessary to the 
young — Religion to be secured during the season of 
youth, of health, and of mental vigor — Conclusion. 

My Young Friends, 

As I suggested at the dose of my last letter, 
I am now to address you in this closing lei- 



384 YOUNG man' asssistant. 

ter upon the necessity of religion, or of reli- 
gious self-cultivation. In doing this I wish to 
invite your attention to the consideration of 
this distinct proposition, that religion is ab- 
solutely necessary to man's best improve- 
ment and highest happiness. But what, you 
may ask, do I mean, when I make the asser- 
tion, that religion is absolutely necessary to 
man's best improvement and highest happi- 
ness? Do I mean that no improvement can 
be made, and no happiness enjoyed, without 
religion? I answer, that I mean no such 
thing. For I admit, not only that some, but 
that much improvement may be made and 
much happiness may be, and often is enjoyed, 
without religion. He whose bodily health 
has by temperance and exercise, been care- 
fully preserved, is to a certain degree, happy 
in the enjoyment of health. He whose in- 
tellect has been cultivated and whose taste 
has been refined and purified, will enjoy 
much happiness in the pleasures of taste and 
intellect. He will experience a high degree 
of happiness in viewing a beautiful painting, 
in reading the productions of gifted minds, in 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 365 

listening to the strains of eloquence or the 
harmony of music. And, most surely, such 
an one has made great improvement, com- 
pared with him in whom taste and intellect 
have heen neglected. He, in whom kind and 
amiable dispositions have been carefully cul- 
tivated, and whose social feelings are proper- 
ly developed, he who is the loving husband, 
the kind father, the amiable and obliging 
neighbor and friend, will enjoy much happi- 
ness in the pleasures of society and of friend- 
ship, and he is elevated in the scale of im- 
provement, far above him who is sour, mo- 
rose, savage and unsocial. Let me be under- 
stood then, at the outset, as distinctly mak- 
ing the admission that much improvement 
may be made and much happiness enjoyed 
without religion. And let it be understood 
too, why I make this admission. It is be- 
cause I know, that in the minds of some, 
there is a lurking skepticism, when one speaks 
of the absolute necessity of religion to man's 
improvement and happiness. Such are ready 
to say, you need not say this to us. We know 
that we are more improved, in mind and heart 

*31 



36G 

and character, than many around us, and we 
are conscious of enjoying from day to day, 
and from year to year, much happiness, while 
yet we are, and acknowledge ourselves to be, 
destitute of religion. Such are apt to con- 
clude, when one speaks of religion as necessa- 
ry, that he speaks as a matter of duty, and 
because it is a part of his professional labor 
so to speak, or because he is himself deceiv- 
ed and has become a fanatic. Now if there 
are any such among my readers who are be- 
ginning to compose themselves into a state of 
indifference as to what 1 am about to say, 
with the thought that this is but the old story 
the necessity of religion, to them I would say, 
I admit the truth of what you assert, that you 
are more improved than many around you, 
and that you may and actually do enjoy much 
happiness, while yet destitute of religion.— 
Your assertion does not militate at all with 
the truth of the proposition which I wish at 
this time to establish, that religion is absolute- 
ly necessary to man's greatest improvement 
and highest happiness. And what I mean is 
this, that the improvement which you have 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 367 

made, and the happiness which you do enjoy, 
are not so complete, and pure, and unalloyed 
as they would be if you were truly religious, 
and, still further, that your improvement has 
not reached the standard which it might have 
reached, under the influence of religion, and 
that your happiness falls far short of that, 
which, under the influence of religion, you 
are capable of enjoying. These are the points 
which it will be my object to prove. And, 
\jpon the ground of the full and fair admis- 
sion which I have made, I would ask your se- 
rious and candid attention to the remarks I 
may offer, 

I know not but you may here turn upon 
me again and ask what I mean by religion? 
do I mean any particular form or mode of 
worship? do I mean that it is absolutely nec- 
essary to a man's highest happiness and great- 
est improvement that he should believe as I 
do, worship as I do, or even practice in all 
things as I do? I answer, that this is not 
what I mean. I would remark that we use 
the term religion, in our ordinary intercourse 
with each other, in two different senses. We 



SG8 young man's assistant. 

speak of the Mahomedan Religion, the Hin- 
doo Religion, the Christian Religion. And 
we mean by this mode of speech, to desig- 
nate the particular collection of doctrines and 
precepts and ceremonies and ordinances and 
institutions, which are respectively peculiar to 
these different religions. So we speak of the 
Roman Catholic Religion and of the Protes- 
tant Religion, in the same sense. When we 
speak in this way, you perceive that we mean 
something, which is entirely without ourselves; 
something which, like different systems of 
Philosophy may be the subjects of our ex- 
amination, of our belief or disbelief. But 
then again, we speak of religion as the perso- 
nal possession of an individual man. We say, 
of one under temptation, that his religion has 
strengthened him to withstand, of one in af- 
fliction, that his religion has given him sup- 
port and consolation, of one who is near the 
approach of death, that his religion has given 
him peace and joy in the prospects of a fu- 
ture world. Here you perceive that we use 
the term religion to denote something, which 
is within the individual of whom the remark 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 369 

is made, to denote the state of his mind, af- 
fections, desires, principles and feelings. ' We 
mean that the religious tendencies of his na 
ture have been properly cherished and devel- 
oped, that his desires, affections and princi- 
ples are all in a religious state, that his appe- 
tites and passions are all under the control of 
religious influences. It is in this latter sense 
that I use the term religion, when I say that 
it is necessary to man's highest happiness 
and improvement. I mean that man cannot 
make all the improvement, not enjoy all the 
happiness, of which his nature is capable, un- 
less the religious tendencies of his nature are 
carefully cultivated and properly developed, 
unless his soul is in a religious frame. Hav- 
ing made these introductory explanations, I 
now come to the argument. 

I. And first, — I suppose it will be admitted 
by all, that, if any one part of man's nature 
be neglected, the improvement made and the 
happiness enjoyed will not be so great as it 
would have been, had this part been properly 
exercised, strengthened and developed. And 
the reverse of this will of course be admitted 



370 young man's assistant. 

by all, that he, in whom all the various parts 
and tendencies of his nature are properly de- 
veloped, will, other things being equal, make 
the greatest improvement and enjoy the high- 
est degree of happiness. Here, for example, 
is one who is intent upon the improvement of 
his intellect. His object is to acquire knowl- 
edge, and, by storing his mind with knowl- 
edge, to exercise, strengthen and develope 
his mental powers. To this he devotes his 
thoughts, his labors, his time. And he suc- 
ceeds, for a time. He makes rapid acquisi- 
tions of knowledge, — he is acquiring great 
mental power, great depth and justness of 
thought, great soundness of judgment. But, 
while doing this, he neglects his physical 
nature, and soon his health fails before his 
unremitted application. Now, you will admit, 
that this individual cannot make so great im- 
provement, cannot enjoy so great hsppiness, 
as he would have done had his physical system 
been properly exercised, strengthened and 
developed. His intellectual progress is en- 
tirely arrested, or much impeded, by his ill 
health. The happiness which he enjoys in 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 371 

intellectual efforts is much diminished by his 
pains of body. You will admit, that in this 
case, relating only to bodily health and intel- 
lectual vigor, he who cultivates but one, to 
the neglect of the other, cannot make so great 
improvement, cannot enjoy so great happi- 
ness, as if he had properly exercised, strength- 
ened and developed both parts of his nature. 
And so, if you take the reverse, and suppose 
an individual to have exercised and cultivated 
his physical system, to the neglect of intellec- 
tual improvement, he will not make so great 
improvement, in all in which man is capable 
of improving, as if both parts of his nature 
had been cultivated. Take still another illus- 
tration. — Here is one who has cultivated 
bodily health and intellectual vigor, but has 
neglected his social nature, has become sour, 
morose and utterly selfish, taking no interest 
in the happiness of those around him, enjoy- 
ing no pleasure in their society, and ever 
fretting at their intrusion. I need not, I trust, 
say that such an one does not enjoy as much, 
as he would have done, had this part of his 
nature been properly cultivated. For this 



S72 

all will at once admit. All will admit that 
©ur enjoyment of intellectual pleasures even 
is much enhanced hy sharing those pleasures 
with other kindred minds. But I will say 
that he will not make so great improvement. 
It is often the case that in our private studies 
we fall into errors, which might be corrected, 
and imbibe prejudices which might be re- 
moved, and acquire narrow and contracted 
notions which might be enlarged, if we were 
to associate freely and pleasantly with others. 
It is often the case, too, that he, whose mind 
is becoming languid and torpid, under long 
continued solitary study, will find himself 
refreshed and invigorated by free and kind 
intercourse with his fellows, so that a certain 
number of hours, spent partly in study and 
partly in society, will result in greater im- 
provement, than the same number of hours 
spent in continued study or in solitary musings. 
You will admit then, I trust, that if any part 
of man's nature be neglected, he cannot make 
so great improvement, cannot enjoy so great 
happiness, as he would have done had all the 
various parts of his nature been properly cul- 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 373 

I tivated and developed. But of what practical 
| importance is this conclusion ? Do not men 
act in reference to it? Do not those of good 
! judgment and rational views in regard to hap- 
! piness, regulate their conduct in their individu- 
al efforts, by a regard to this conclusion? Do 
they not strive, by temperance and exercise, 
to strengthen and develope their bodily powers? 
Do they not, by study, thought, and reflection, 
seek for intellectual improvement? Do they 
not strive to purify and elevate and refine their 
social feelings? And is not this done in order 
to secure greater degrees of improvement and 
a greater amount of happiness? And what 
theoretical inference does this conclusion au- 
thorize? Suppose, for example, you knew 
nothing of spiritual capacities-Mhat man was 
not created a spiritual being, but that you were 
informed, upon undoubted authority, that a be- 
ing had appeared upon earth in all other re- 
spects like man, but possessing in addition to 
all man's capacities, a spiritual nature — taste 
for spiritual enjoyments, and capacities for 
spiritual improvement. Would you not con- 
clude at once, from what you have learned of 



374 young man's assistant. 

the will of God, as developed in man's con- 
stitution, that such a being would enjoy greater 
happiness, and make greater improvement, if 
these spiritual tastes and capacities were culti- 
vated and developed, than he could if they 
were neglected? Would you not feel that, 
where God has bestowed a power, and es- 
pecially a power of so high a character as this, 
it was intended that it should be exercised, 
strengthened and developed, and that this de- 
velopment would be productive of increased 
improvement and happiness? Still further, 
suppose you could become fully satisfied in 
your own mind that man, that you yourselves 
— had been blessed with spiritual natures, 
tastes for spiritual pleasures, and capacities for 
spiritual life, progress and enjoyment, would 
you not, at once, admit that, from what you 
have learned of God's will in the other parts 
of your nature, it was his intention that you 
should cultivate, strengthen and develope these 
• ial ifatures, and, that by so doing, you 
; ; prees of im- 

enjoyment and happiness, than if you neglect- 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 375 

ed them. Are not these theoretical inferences 
fairly drawn from the conclusion at which we 
had arrived? And here let us pause and re- 
view the argument, and see what progress we 
have made, and where we now stand. We 
have found that, if any one part of man's na- 
ture be neglected — if any portion of his ca- 
pacities and tendencies be suffered to lie dor- 
mant or to run to waste, he cannot make so 
great improvement, nor enjoy so great happi- 
ness, as he would if all the various parts, ca- 
pacities and tendencies of his nature were 
properly exercised, strengthened and devel- 
oped, that there is absolute and insurmountable 
impossibility in the thing. Now is not this 
conclusion legitimately drawn? fairly support- 
ed? I have looked at the argument and can 
see no flaw in it. And the conclusion seems 
to me to be as strictly and absolutely true, as 
that two and two make four. It is often said 
by writers on health, that you cannot cheat na- 
ture, meaning man's physical nature, bodily 
system, — that, if you do not give the body its 
proper amount of exercise and sleep, and its 
appropriate kind and quality of nourishment, 



Odb YOUNG MAN'S ASSISTANT. 

you must suffer for the neglect, that if you do 
not experience the evil consequences, at once, 
you will sooner or later experience them, that 
pains will be induced, health enfeebled and 
death caused, by such neglect. So I say of 
man's whole system. You cannot cheat na- 
ture. If you neglect the appropriate exercise 
and cultivation of any part of his nature, al- 
though you may not experience the unhappy 
consequences, at once, yet you will sooner or 
later experience them. Let this conclusion, 
then, that if any part of man's natural capac- 
ities and tendencies be neglected, he cannot 
make so great improvement, nor enjoy so great 
happiness as he would, were all parts proper- 
ly cultivated — let this conclusion be fixed in 
your minds as a simple, undoubted, important 
truth, yea as a truth of direct and immediate 
personal, practical application. Thus far have 
we gone. Nay more, we have gone farther. 
We have seen that men of sound minds and 
rational notions, do regulate their conduct by a 
reference to these views, and we have drawn 
from our conclusion the theoretical inference 
that if man does naturally manifest spiritual 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. S77 

capacities and religious tendencies, he must 
attend to these and cultivate them, in order to 
make all the improvement and enjoy all the 
happiness of which his nature is capable. I 
have already asked, if this inference be not 
fairly drawn; to me it seems that it is — that it 
is as true as it is that if you take three from five 
there will remain two. And I would hope 
that this inference will be admitted into your 
minds, and fixed there, as a real simple truth, 
attended with important practical bearings.— 
Thus far have we gone. And here we now 
stand, poised upon that little word., if — if 
man possesses a spiritual nature. 

II. And now I proceed, in the second place, 
to examine the question which hangs upon that 
little word — the question, does man possess a 
spiritual nature ? And here I begin with the 
assertion that man does possess a spiritual na- 
ture — tastes for spiritual joys, and capacities 
for spiritual improvement, progress and growth. 
I have made an assertion. I will attempt to 
prove its truth. 

1st. Man is possessed of conscience. This 
you and I know, for we have felt compunc- 

32* 



378 YOUN0 man's assistant. 

tions of conscience, and approbations of con- 
science. There cannot be one among my 
readers who has not experienced the feeling 
of self-approval, when he had done what he 
thought to be right, and the feeling of self-dis- 
approbation, when he had done what he be- 
lieved to be wrong. We are conscious of pos- 
sessing conscience. You may say that con- 
science is but the artificial creation of human 
eustoms, and may attempt to prove the truth 
of your assertion by shewing that the decisions 
of conscience vary in different circumstances, 
to accord with different customs. But this 
proof does not meet the case. On the con- 
trary it implies an admission of the very propo- 
sition it professes to deny. It goes to prove 
that the decisions of conscience vary with the 
degrees of light and instruction enjoyed by the 
individual whose conscience decides. But 
how could this be true if there were no con- 
science to decide? The very objection then 
is based upon the supposition that man does 
possess conscience. And this position it is in 
vain to argue against. If your child has done 
what he believes to be wrong, you cannot con- 



NECESSITY OF ItELIGION. 379 

vince him that he did not experience a feeling 
of self-disapprobation. You may puzzle him 
by your hard words, and, to him, unintelligible 
arguments, but still he knows what he has felt. 
His consciousness has told him that he felt self- 
condemned, and he cannot disbelieve his own 
consciousness. Man then is possessed of con- 
science — it is one of his natural capacities. 
It is as much bestowed upon him in his crea- 
tion as the power of locomotion is bestowed 
upon beasts and birds. Conscience is as truly 
one of his natural capacities, as locomotion is 
one of their natural capacities. 

2d. Again, man is possessed of the senti- 
ment of veneration or devotion. There is, in 
the very constitution of his nature, a tendency 
of this kind. This tendency may have given 
strange manifestations of itself — may have led 
to excesses and abuses, but these only prove 
the existence and strength of the principle it- 
self. I say this is one of the inherent tenden- 
cies of his nature, because wherever man is 
found, there, in some form or other, is mani- 
fested this principle of veneration or religious 
devotion. You find man bowing in worship. 



380 young man's assistant. 

In the language of another I would say, "No 
matter what may be the immediate ot* ostensi- 
ble object of this sentiment, a log, a stone, or 
a star, the God of the hills, or the God of the 
plains, Jehovah, Jove or Lord; still it is ven- 
eration, still it is devotion. Neither can the 
principle itself, by any shew of evidence or 
just analysis; be resolved into a mere figment 
of the brain, or a mere creature of circumstan- 
ces, for, in some form or other, it has mani- 
fested itself, under all circumstances, and, in 
every stage of the mind's growth, as having its 
root and foundation in the soul. There is then 
in man a tendency disposing him to look up- 
wards to a higher power and inducing faith in 
the invisible." 

Nearly connected with this, is a natural ten- 
dency in man to reach after the absolute and 
the perfect. If man thinks of love, of purity, 
of holiness, of justice, benevolen.ce and truth, 
there is the feeling that all which he has yet 
seen, and all which he now knows of these, is 
imperfect, and only to be found in connection 
with peculiar circumstances and partial devel- 
opments. But, why does he feel that there 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 381 

is, some where the absolute and the perfect, in 
love, truth, and holiness? Because he has the 
power of forming the idea of the absolute and 
the perfect in these. Let a man advance to 
as high degrees of love, purity, and holiness, as 
you can imagine him to advance, and still there 
will be connected with his satisfaction at having 
made such progress, the feeling that he falls 
short — there is the lono-ing, the reaching forth 
for the absolute and the perfect, and never is this 
lono-ino; satisfied, this reaching forth assuaged, 
until the mind is employed upon contempla- 
tions of the absolute and the perfect, as re- 
vealed by religion. This reaching after the 
absolute and the perfect is a natural tendency. 
It is found in the child, weak and imperfect in- 
deed it may be, but still there. It is found in 
the untutored savage, in the ignorant and su- 
perstitious, as well as in the enlightened and 
refined, among christians. To use the lan- 
guage of the author already quoted, "We may 
say that the very idea of imperfection as such, 
involves some faint glimmering of the idea of 
the perfect, with which it is compared, and 
without which imperfection would be to us 



ob2 YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT. 

as perfection. So likewise, in contemplating 
things accidental and dependent, the idea of 
the absolute grows up in the mind; the idea of 
something that is not accidental and depend- 
ent, and on which every thing that is acciden- 
tal and dependent, rests and is sustained. In 
short, the mind of man is so constituted, that, 
in the full development of its intellectual pow- 
ers it can find no real satisfaction, no resolu- 
tion of its doubts and difficulties, but in the 
idea of the absolute and the perfect. Take 
away this idea, and existence itself becomes an 
enigma. Give back this idea, and it again be- 
comes a consistent, intelligible, and magnificent 
whole." 

I have named conscience, the sentiment of 
veneration or devotion, and the lon£in£ for the 
absolute and the perfect, as capacities and 
tendencies which are found in man, as natural 
capacities and tendencies. I believe them to 
be, in a certain sense, distinct irom his intel- 
lectual powers. The intellectual powers may 
be cultivated and these comparatively neglect- 
ed. A man may acquire vast stores of knowl- 
edge, may acquire great depth of thought upon 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 383 

subjects to which his mind has been directed, 
while yet the tenderness of his conscience may 
not be increased; the correctness of his moral 
judgment may not be improved. So a man 
may have the sentiment of veneration devel- 
oped, in perfect and correct operation, while 
yet he is but an inferior man in an intellectual 
point of view. These capacities and tenden- 
cies are, then, in some sense, distinct from and 
independent of mere intellectual culture. In- 
deed, they are no more dependent upon intel- 
lectual culture, than intellectual vigor is depen- 
dent upon physical development. 

But these tendencies and capacities and as- 
pirations, and others like them, constitute what 
I call man's spiritual nature. They distinguish 
him from all inferior grades of being; they have 
laws peculiar to themselves, in accordance with 
which they may be cherished and improved. 
They require a particular kind of exercise and 
development, distinct from bodily exercise, 
different from social or mental culture. They 
constitute his tastes for spiritual joys, his ca- 
pacity for spiritual progress. They are capa- 
ble of being exercised and developed and dwelt 



384 young man's assistant. 

upon, until they shall afford a peculiar kind 
and degree of happiness. You have seen men 
so absorbed in intellectual efforts as to be ren- 
dered unconscious of the cravings of nature — 
as to forget the appropriate season and place of 
their meals. So have we seen men so ab- 
sorbed in their contemplations of the spiritual 
and the eternal — so sustained by their faith 
and their hope, so enraptured by religious en- 
joyment, that they have been rendered calm 
and even cheerful in the midst of pain and 
poverty — while under the power of disease, 
and at the approach of death. Here, then, my 
young friends, let us pause a second and 
see where we are. We have found that there 
is in man conscience, the sentiment of venera- 
tion or devotion, and a longing for the absolute 
and the perfect. That these belong to a part 
of our nature, as distinct from intellectual fac- 
ulties, as intellectual faculties are distinct from 
bodily powers. That they require a distinct 
and separate culture, and that when cultivated, 
they give a weight of character and an amount 
of happiness which is independent of the intel- 
lectual character. I appeal to every one 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 385 

of rny readers, are not these facts plain and 
simple facts? Has not your own past con- 
sciousness revealed them to you, as inherent in 
your own soul? I trust it has. These and 
other similar qualities constitute man's spiritual 
nature and tastes and capacities, and fit him for 
spiritual progress and happiness. But, if man 
has a spiritual nature, you have already admit- 
ted that it should be cultivated, and if culti- 
vated, causes him to reach a higher degree of 
improvement.and to secure a greater amount of 
happiness than could otherwise be reached or 
secured ; that it is absolutely necessary to man's 
greatest improvement and highest happiness; 
that this part of his nature should be cultivated 
and developed. But this, the right cultivation 
and proper development of man's spiritual na- 
ture, and its influence over the whole man, is 
what I mean by religion. When I say that 
religion is necessary to a man's improvement 
and happiness, I mean that it is necessary to 
his improvement and happiness, that his spirit- 
ual nature, his religious tendencies, should all 
be cherished, cultivated and developed. And 
have I not proved the truth of my assertion? 

33 



386 young man's assistant, 

Is it not a simple verity, as true as that two 
and two make four? And is not this an im- 
portant truth and a practical truth? Do you 
wish to reach the highest improvement, to se- 
cure the greatest happiness of which your na- 
ture is capable? Know that it is impossible, 
utterly and absolutely impossible, unless you 
become truly and personally religious — unless 
all the elements of your spiritual nature are 
cultivated and developed. 

My young friends, I have treated the sub- 
ject somewhat differently from the mode in 
which it is usually treated. I have not ap- 
pealed to the feelings — I have not endeavored 
to alarm the fears — I have used only what has 
seemed to me fair argument. I have drawn 
only what seemed to me to be fair inferences. 
I have drawn only what seemed to nie legiti- 
mate conclusions and inferences. I have based 
my arguments too, not upon peculiar specula- 
tions and theological dogmas, but upon what 
man's nature is, and what it requires, upon 
grounds which are within the range of every one's 
consciousness and observation. If I am wrong, 
you have within your own hearts or under 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 387 

your own eyes, the means of detecting any er- 
ror. If I am right, there is a voice within 
you and a voice comes from all your past expe- 
rience and all your various observation, which 
cries amen to what I have said. 

And in view of my conclusion, what should 
be my exhortation? I ask of you nothing 
wild, extravagant, or unreasonable. I ask only 
that, like reasonable beings you will give my 
conclusions their legitimate and proper influ- 
ence over your conduct, the same influence 
which you would give to conclusions equally 
well founded and supported, relative to other 
subjects. Could I prove to you that a certain 
course of conduct is absolutely necessary to 
your enjoyment of health, or to your securing 
wealth, would you not pursue that course? 
Or, if you should not, would you not be justly 
obnoxious to the charge of acting like unrea- 
sonable beings? Be exhorted then by all your 
aspirations after improvement of character, and 
by all your hopes of happiness either here or 
hereafter, be exhorted and entreated to com- 
mence at once a religious life, to begin the cul- 
tivation of your spiritual capacities, to fit, train, 
and educate vour souls for heaven. 



388 young man's assistant. 

But when, you will ask, is religion to be 
sought and acquired? The answer is plain. 
Now is the accepted time? The season of 
health and strength, and especially the sea- 
son of youth, is the time. When you can 
apply your minds to understand its eviden- 
ces, its doctrines, its duties, and when you 
have strength of resolution sufficient to cany 
you onward in the course of Christian im- 
provement, then is the time in which re- 
acquire religion. Sickness, and the ap- 
proach of death, are seasons unfavorable to 
the acquisition of religious knowledge, to the 
cultivation of christian faith and love, to the 
formation of christian character. You will 
then need its supports and consolations. But 
if you would enjoy the strongest and best sup- 
ports of religion in mourning and affliction, 
in sickness and at the approach of death, you 
must have been purified, elevated, guided, 
saved by its influence, when in health and at 
ease in your mind. Now then is the appro- 
priate time in which to commence, a religious 
course. The time that is past is gone forev- 
er. It cannot minister to your religious im- 
provement, in any other way than as your re- 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 389 

collection of what has been mispent, may- 
arouse your exertions to redeem what may 
still remain to you. The future cannot be 
calculated upon. It may be yours or it may 
not. Should it be yours, you may be unfit- 
ted by bodily pain, or by mental distraction, 
for directing your attention to your own reli- 
gious improvement. v Now then, now is the 
time to commence a religious course? And 
will you not my friends at once commence 
your religious course. As you look onward 
into life, you hope to be respectable, you wish 
to be happy. You are now free from gross 
vices, and you have confidence, that by your 
own strength you shall ever remain so. But 
your confidence is without good foundation. 
Others stronger and more confident than you, 
have fallen before the insidious influence of 
temptation, have yielded to the power of sin. 
You are equally liable to fall, unless there be 
within you, religious principle, as a root strik- 
ing deep into your affections, and spreading 
wide its influence over your characters. Be 
assured then that your characters will never 
be perfected, in the eye of your own con- 

33* 



890 young man's assistant. 

sciences, nor in the eye of your God, with- 
out religion. Be assured that your cup. of 
happiness will never be full, unless religion 
be permitted to add her share of the ingredi- 
ents. Be assured, that in all the scenes of 
your future life, whether it. be longer or short- 
er, whether it be more or less varied, in all 
scenes, religion will be the one thing needful. 
I repeat, in all the scenes of life, and espe- 
cially at the approach of death, come when 
it will, and come it must, sooner or later, re- 
ligion will be the one thing needful. 

And would that I could say this with an 
emphasis that should reach every heart and 
arouse every soul. Bnt alas! so engrossed 
are most, even of our young men by worldly 
cares and temporal pursuits, so entirely taken 
up are they in laying up for themselves treas- 
ures on earth, that the oft repeated warnings 
and calls urging them to commence a religious 
life are passed unheeded by. Sabbath after 
Sabbath the call is repeated, week after week 
the warning that comes up from the grave of 
a fellow being is sounded in the ears of men, 
day after day, and night after night, the works 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 391 

of nature proclaim this call aloud, and the 
spirit of God is ever operating to set it home 
upon the hearts that are open to its influen- 
ces, and yet we are sometimes compelled to 
acknowledge that but few have obeyed the 
call, that but few have listened to the report. 
And when we look upon those around us and 
see how frail they are, how liable to disease 
and death, and yet how carelessly they go, 
we almost tremble with fear, lest the fiat of 
the Almighty should go forth, "I will cut them 
down, why burden they the ground!" We are 
prompted to pray in the anxiety of our souls 
for them, Lord, let them alone another year. 
But what encouragement have we to hope 
that at the end of another year it will be any 
better with them? My young friends, I do 
beseech you, yea, most earnestly do I intreat 
you, to lay it to heart, that religion is the one 
thing needful. Seek then first the kingdom 
of heaven. Strive principally to become per- 
sonally religious. May 1 not hope that some 
will at once resolve to strive more ear- 
nestly, than they have ever yet done, to ac- 
quire christian dispositions, feelings and tem- 



392 YOUNG MAN S ASSISTANT. 

pers, and to form christian characters. Shall 
not the recording angel enter the resolve of 
man}' made as they close this volume, that for 
the future they will strive for the one thing 
needful? Shall not the inhabitants of heav- 
en rejoice at the course of repentance, refor- 
mation and christian improvement, commenc- 
ed by many who may pursue these pages. — 
Do not, oh, do not, I beseech you, forget as 
you close the book what manner of persons 
you are. Do not forget that to you religion 
is the one thing needful. That without this, 
all other possessions will he comparatively val- 
uless, that with this every scene of life may 
be a scene of comparative happiness. Seek 
then first and principally a religious frame of 
mind, a religious state of the affections, a re- 
ligious cast of character, and may the bless- 
ing of God attend you as you seek. 

But how, you will ask, shall we commence? 
In answer, I would say, go to your respective 
religious teachers for instruction on this point. 
Different teachers may, perhaps, give differ- 
ent directions, according to their peculiar re- 
ligious views. And I would not mar what I 



NECESSITY OF RELIGION. 393 

cannot but hope may be the good influences 
of what I have written, by any directions which 
may take their coloring from my peculiar re- 
ligious views. Then too 3 every religious teach- 
er must vary his directions to meet the precise 
state of feelings and of character in the differ- 
ent individuals who may ask advice. What I 
wish therefore is to awaken you to a full and 
feeling sense of the importance of religion — 
the importance of entering at once and in ear- 
nest upon the work of becoming religious — 
the work of religious self-cultivation. Should 
what I have written awaken you to this feel- 
ing, and prompt you to go to your bibles, and 
to ask for counsel and direction from your re- 
spective religious teachers, I shall feel that I 
have been an instrument of the greatest good 
to your souls. I shall feel that I have done 
something to promote, not merely yourrespec- 
tibility and usefulness in life, but your prepa- 
ration for the realities of the unseen, the spir- 
itual, the eternal world. I shall feel that my 
efforts have been blessed by God. I shall 
cherish the hope that parents and religious 
teachers, who may differ from me in religious 



394 young man's assistant. 

opinions, will rejoice in the result. I would 
write not as a sectarian, but as a christian. I 
wish to see our young men becoming truly 
and personally religious. Could I see this, I 
should rejoice, how much soever they may dif- 
fer from me in religious opinions, and with 
whatever religious denomination they may 
connect themselves. 

I would now, my young friends, commend 
what I have written to your serious and care- 
ful attention. Remember, as you meditate 
upon what you have read, that it is for your 
good that I have written. But remember, too 
that all which I have written will be of no 
avail, unless you make personal efforts in ap- 
plying what you have to your own individual 
improvement. If what I have written shall 
excite you to careful thought and to earnest 
and regular and persevering efforts in your own 
social, intellectual, moral, and religious self- 
cultivation, then shall I be amply rewarded for 
my labor. 



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